Shadows
by Tinks231
Summary: A troubled soldier, Nomad, joins the G.I Joe team. Now she has to move on in order to fit in. Rated M for violence and language.
1. Disclaimer

Alright, here we go. My first Joe fic! I only discovered the awesomeness that is G.I Joe last year, when I bought the newest movie coz it was cheap. Snake Eyes was cool.

Then, I found the 80s cartoons, and I was hooked (and now really annoyed with the new movie coz it's kinda dodgy - but Snake Eyes is cool).

After that, I decided that I might as well buy the comics. My story's based on the 80s cartoons and comic books, because I like them the most. My favourite characters are Shipwreck and comic Clutch, so you'll see them a lot. Dusty comes a close second.

So anyway, I'll get on with it. Suggestions and reviews are very welcome. I'll just point out now that I have no idea when it comes to military terms or anything like that, so all stuff-ups are mine and please excuse them.

Disclaimer: I do not own G.I Joe, no matter how much I wish I did. The only thing I'm doing is helping to spread the G.I Joe goodness. All hail Hasbro!


	2. Chapter One

"This is Dynamite. Do you read me, Goldilocks?"

"_Loud and clear, Dynamite, we'll be in visual range in five…four…three…two…ta-daa!_"

Dynamite lifted the corner of the camo net as Goldilocks's convoy emerged from the jungle. The three armoured jeeps and the tank slowed to a stop just metres away.

Goldilocks jumped out of the tank, the blonde hair that had earned him his codename gleaming in the dappled sun that made it past the canopy. "All clear!" he shouted.

The soldiers disembarked and fell into line behind him. There were Skipper and Spider from the first jeep; a single man, Hotshot, from the second and, from the third Jeep - there he was. Dynamite's best friend, Matches, was scanning the area.

"Dynamite? Where are you?" Goldilocks called.

"At your ten." Dynamite threw the corner of the camouflaged net back and crawled out.

Goldilocks smiled and - to Dynamite's great surprise, saluted. "Good to see you again. Wasn't sure I would."

Dynamite saluted in return. "Thank you, General."

Goldilocks turned to the others. "At ease, men. Matches, you don't mind waiting a bit longer to say hi?"

Matches shook his head, but Dynamite could clearly see he _did_ mind. "No, sir." Matches' voice was cold. He caught Dynamite's eye and shook his head slightly.

Dynamite tensed. Matches thought something was up.

If Goldilocks noticed Matches' tone, he didn't show it. He turned back to Dynamite. "You have done an outstanding job. I don't know many soldiers who'd be able to do what you've done."

"Thank you, General, but -"

Goldilocks waved a hand dismissively. "No buts. I'm so impressed, I'm going to request for your transfer to my team. If that's alright with you, of course."

"I -"

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to think about it. Now, tell me what you've found, so we can get you home."

Dynamite frowned. "Sir, my orders were to report to -"

"Those orders were given ten months ago. You have new orders. What did you find out?"

"Sir, with respect, I'd like to see the paperwork for those orders before I disclose anything. To _anyone_."

Goldilocks moved forward. "Do we really have to go through this?" he asked quietly. "I know it's been tough, out here on your own, doing what you've had to do. But it's me. You know me. You can trust me."

Dynamite studied Goldilocks. The man was a six foot six giant. His biceps were the size of Dynamite's head. "General. I need to see the paperwork for my new orders. Until then, sir, I stick to what I was told at the beginning of the mission."

Goldilocks sighed. "I thought you'd say that."

Without warning, he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster, turned and shot Skipper in the head. The back of Skipper's skull blew outwards in a fine mist of red. Several globs splattered across the side of the Jeep behind him.

"Gen - what the fuck?"

Goldilocks spun again. Spider and Hotshot met the same fate.

Dynamite stared in shock. "What are you -"

"Like I said," Goldilocks replied darkly. "New orders. Tell me what you know, or Matches is next."

Matches had his assault rifle up and trained on the General. "Get outta here, Dynamite. Take one of the Jeeps and go!"

"I won't -"

Goldilocks rolled his eyes. "Time's up."

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Match -! Oh." Nomad sat straight up in her five-wheeled, ergonomic, Occupational-Health-and-Safety-approved crappy computer chair. Her clenched fist knocked over several empty mugs and one half-full one. The cold, crappy office coffee in it spilled all over a thick pile of papers as the mug rolled off the crappy office desk and smashed on the crappy office floor.

"Dammit! Stupid fucking piece of fucking shit! Son of a bitch!"

The phone on the desk rang. Nomad raised her eyes to the security camera on the roof behind her and raised her finger at it with a grin. "Fuck off, Andy. Oh, wait, you probably are."

The phone stopped ringing. Nomad waved a hand dismissively at the camera, chuckling to herself. She liked Andy, the chief of security. Along with General Hammond, Andy was the only one she _did_ like.

She checked her watch; it was 8.27. Well, she'd only dozed off for about five minutes. She made a mental note to increase her caffeine intake - and the dose of sleeping pills when she got home.

Nomad turned, still grinning, to the coffee-soaked papers. They were the documents for Colonel Maloney - possibly the most obsessive fan of paperwork she'd ever known. The grin faded. "Ah, shit..."

* * *

"That's her?" Hawk tore his eyes from the secretary to look at the man standing next to him.

General Hammond nodded. "Yep, that's her. Surprised?"

Hawk studied Hammond. The man was about ten years older than Hawk. His hair was iron grey, turning to snow at the temples. He wore dress greens that were looking a little strained around the middle. "A little. I thought she'd be…taller."

Hawk turned back to watch the girl behind the desk. She was now fanning a stack of brown-stained papers with a hand, uttering a string of curses that would have impressed a certain sailor Hawk knew. Her hair was chin length, sleek and black. She wore a tailored white shirt and, when she turned around to look up at the security camera for some reason, with her finger raised, he saw a large tattoo above her right shoulderblade.

He and General Hammond had been standing in the doorway discussing the secretary for five minutes. She'd been dozing the entire time.

Hawk glanced at his watch. "Why's she here so late on a Friday night?" he asked curiously.

Hammond shrugged. "She likes to work late. I guess she's a night-owl. She's a hard worker, so I let her do what she wants and work as late as she wants. It works."

Hawk nodded. "Doesn't look like she gets much sleep," he said, noticing the dark circles under the girl's eyes. "I've read her files. She has nightmares?"

"Yes. Looks like she had one just now. Come on, I'll introduce you."

* * *

"Something wrong, Nomad?"

Nomad jumped to her feet, startled, a pile of soggy paper in each hand. "Fucking hell, General, don't sneak up on me like that. You trying to give me a heart attack?"

General Hammond raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, sir. Thought I was the only one still here, that's all." She turned jerked a thumb up at the security camera. "Except for Andy, I mean."

"I had a last minute meeting downstairs. I forgot to tell you."

Nomad's eyes flicked to the man standing slightly behind Hammond. He was taller than Hammond, with short blonde hair, a square jaw and sharp blue eyes that held hers, sizing her up as she did the same. He wore a uniform with several decorations pinned to the breast. He was a general as well. He looked to be in good shape. He gave her a nod. She nodded back but said nothing, assuming Hammond would make introductions eventually.

She turned back to the general and flapped the papers. "Mal's gonna have my head on a plate. Probably bloody and still twitching."

Hammond chuckled. "He likes you. I think your head's safe."

"Fuck me, I'd hate to be on his bad side, then."

"Me, too." He gestured to the blonde guy. "I'd like you to meet General Clayton M. Abernathy."

She snapped off a salute. "Sir."

Abernathy then offered his hand. "Call me Hawk. It's a pleasure to meet you, Nomad. I've heard a lot about you."

She shook his hand, but eyed him warily. "Really. A lot, meaning…what, exactly?"

"Enough," Hawk said cryptically.

It didn't reassure her. Nomad looked to Hammond for an explanation. Typically, none was forthcoming.

Hawk went on. "Nomad, have you heard of G.I. Joe?"

She shook her head. "No. Should I have?"

"No. We're a top secret organisation."

"So why ask -"

Hammond interrupted, shooting Nomad a cautionary look. "Nomad, my meeting was with Hawk. His team - G.I Joe - are an elite team of soldiers gathered from all across America. Only the best are accepted into G.I Joe."

"And…this has _what_ to do with me?" she pressed cautiously.

"I've been speaking to Hawk about transferring you to his team."

"What?"

Hammond gave her a stern look. Hawk stepped in before Hammond had time to reprimand her. "You'd be working in the field, both alone and with other Joes, depending on the mission. You'd be required to take a precursory fitness test, of course, and the standard medicals, but other than that you'd be able to start right away."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why me?"

"General Hammond gave me your files to read. I was impressed. If you're willing, I'd be happy to accept your transferral."

Nomad shot a glance at Hammond. "You gave him my files? Sir?"

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

She looked up at Hawk. "Then you know -"

"I know what happened in the Amazon, yes."

"Ah." She sighed. "Then you should know that I'm…not interested." That was harder to say than she'd thought it would be. "I'm done with field work. Now, if you don't mind…" She held up the coffee-soaked papers. "I have some documents to blow dry."

Hawk followed her as she walked around her desk, heading for the bathroom door just down the hall. "Nomad - you used to go by the codename Dynamite -"

General Hammond groaned.

Nomad stopped and turned to look at Hawk. "Let's get one thing straight," she said quietly. "I don't go by that name anymore. Call me that again and I'll give you a black eye, General or not."

"Nomad," Hammond warned, "you're -"

"It's okay," Hawk told the General. "Nomad, I know what that mission cost."

She looked over her shoulder, smiling slightly. "Think so, huh?" She paused, studying him. His eyes never left hers. "You must have read about the missions following the Amazon?"

"I read them."

"And you still want me for field work? In this G.I…whoever it is?"

"Joe. G.I Joe." Hawk strode over to her and gestured to the soggy papers in her hands. "Your qualifications are excellent. Your results in the field are outstanding, regardless of the goal. Are you really happy sitting behind a desk?"

She looked down, then turned to Hammond.

"It's your choice, Nomad," he said. "I recommended you, but the decision is ultimately yours. Trust me. And trust Hawk; he's one of the best."

She eyed Hawk again, raising an eyebrow. "Do I get thinking music?"

Hawk chuckled. "You'll have to supply your own music, but I _can_ give you time. I'll be here on Monday; you can give me your answer then."

"Right. Okay." She nodded, looked down at the papers, then hurried down the hall and into the bathroom. Once the door was closed and locked behind her, she leaned back on it, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"What a day." She crossed to the hand dryer and shoved the pile of documents under it. "Well…if it ain't Mal, _somebody's_ gonna have my head."

* * *

Hawk sat across from Hammond in the office, a thick folder in front of him. "Did you know her before the Amazon mission?"

"I did."

Hawk waited.

"For a few months after the Amazon, I didn't think she'd make it back," Hammond confessed. "It took a lot out of her; she spent two months in hospital and then two more in therapy. I know men who wouldn't bounce back from something like that. And of course you read what happened after. She's quieter now, not as trusting…still has a little trouble around senior officers."

Hawk grinned. "I noticed, but it's understandable. Does she threaten you with black eyes often?"

Hammond smiled as well. "I've only ever seen her do it once, and the guy she gave it to was an ass anyway."

* * *

Stalker joined Duke as he sat at the table in the War Room, poring over several files that were spread out before her. "They the files for the new greenshirts Hawk's recruiting?"

Duke looked up, shaking his blonde head. "Hawk's only trying to sign up one recruit; all these files belong to her. And she's not a greenshirt, she's definitely Joe material."

Stalker sat down opposite the first sergeant and pulled over one of the folders to look at the photo of the new Joe candidate. "Sherry 'Shezz' Leona, codename…that's strange. There's two listed, 'Dynamite' and 'Nomad'. Twenty three years old, joined the Army at nineteen. Retired from field duty…at twenty three?"

"Twenty two. She retired a year ago. No details. Now she's a secretary, and old 'Iron Butt' Austin knows the man she works for, one General Hammond. That's how she came to Hawk's attention; Hammond recommended her to Austin, Austin recommended her to Hawk. These aren't even all her files. Doc's got some, Psyche Out has some, and there're confidential ones Hawk won't let me see." Duke leaned back in his chair.

"Retired from field duty at twenty two," Stalker mused, poring over the files. "When will Hawk be back?"

"Monday. He said he wasn't sure he'd be able to convince her to come back with him, though. But take a look at this." Duke slid a sheet of paper across the table. "She's got a Medal of Honour."

Stalker whistled. "She must be one helluva soldier."

* * *

It could hardly be called a home. There were no photos on the wall, no knickknacks gathering dust on the mantle, no notes stuck on the fridge. The only furniture in the apartment was a small card table and one chair. All that betrayed Nomad's existence was a rucksack in the bedroom, resting beside an unrolled swag, and a laptop and iPod on the kitchen bench.

Still, despite its sparseness, the apartment was the only place Nomad felt entirely comfortable. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, throwing her keys carelessly on the kitchen bench. She opened the fridge and stuck her head in. "Huh. Empty. Who woulda guessed?"

Well, not quite empty. There were several half-full bottles of water, two apples and an out of date carton of milk that she'd been meaning to throw out for a week. She did that now, while she remembered, shuddering as she tipped the stinking, gluggy mess down the sink. Sighing, she retrieved a frozen meal from the freezer and zapped it in the microwave.

When it was ready she sat at the tiny table, humming quietly to herself and thinking the day's events over. It had started out normally: she got to work at 8.30, fielded all Hammond's calls, did paperwork, waved people into Hammond's office or sent them away. Lunch was at one o'clock; she ate at her desk. After that, more secretarial duties, which had been mostly just sitting at the desk waiting for more calls. Hammond walked past at one stage, admonished her for sitting there doing absolutely nothing, and had found her a book to read downstairs. Then, just as she'd been ready to go home, a large pile of paperwork had come in from Colonel Maloney. Hammond had told her to go home, but Nomad had nothing better to do. She'd been halfway through it when she dozed off, had the nightmare (the _recurring_ nightmare, she corrected), woken up and consequently spilled coffee all over the documents.

Then, Hammond introduced General Clayton M. 'Call Me Hawk' Abernathy, who'd seen right through her from the start. He was right; she hated working behind a desk. She'd been in the same place for a year, and she was starting to get restless. She wanted out of the boring, safe life she'd somehow got stuck in.

Then again, last time she'd been in the field, she'd ended up halfway to hell.

She speared a rubbery piece of chicken and chewed on it absently, gazing around at the bare walls of the apartment. It wasn't even worth the hundred bucks a week she payed in rent. A crack ran along the corner of the roof. The fridge was old and it sometimes leaked water on the floor, which was uneven. It was cold in winter and scorching in summer. It smelled of fish when the old lady downstairs cooked.

Nomad tipped the uneaten half of her meal into the bin and headed for the bathroom for a shower. The hot water only ever lasted three minutes and thirty nine seconds - she'd timed it. Drying off, she slipped into the t-shirt that served as pyjamas. It had belonged to Matches; she'd stolen it years ago. It was thin and gone at the seams, but she didn't have the heart to throw it out.

Grabbing one of the water bottles from the fridge, she reached into a side pocket of her rucksack and pulled out a small bottle of sleeping pills. Tonight, she took an extra one.


	3. Chapter Two

And here's Chapter Two! Not much happening yet...hopefully I'll work out a plot sometime soon...

* * *

As per tradition, Nomad almost spilled General Hammond's coffee as she knocked on the door to his office and waited until he called her in. "Morning, General - oh. Generals."

"Morning, Nomad." Hammond sat behind his desk, as usual. She hadn't been expecting Hawk so early, though; the blonde man sat across from Hammond, long legs crossed, skimming the morning newspaper. He folded it and looked around at her.

"Uh..." Her face flushed bright red. "I only brought one coffee." She hurriedly put it down by Hammond, then turned back to Hawk. "I can go get -"

He shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm fine." Hawk shifted in his seat and studied her a moment, then got straight to the point. "Did you consider our offer?"

"Yeah."

Hammond cleared his throat.

"Yes, General Hawk, I did."

"And…?"

She glanced at him, then stepped aside so he could see out into reception. Her rucksack and swag sat in the middle of the floor, looking extremely out of place in the neat foyer. "And you've got yourself a new recruit, sir. I guess you're right - I really don't like desks."

Hawk smiled and stood. "Great. I'll arrange to have someone drop by your apartment and get the rest of your -"

"No need. It's all out there."

The men looked at the two packs, then back at Nomad. Hammond frowned. "That's all? You've been here a year, you _must_ have more stuff than that."

"Nope." She shrugged. "Didn't want to get attached to anything."

Hawk gave her a look she couldn't quite figure out. "In that case, I have a car waiting out front. If there's nothing else you have to do, we can head off right now."

"I've said bye to everyone I need to." She paused. "Well…except one." She looked at General Hammond and smiled.

Hawk tactfully took his leave and went to wait outside the office.

Hammond stood and walked around the desk, holding his hand out. "Sherry -"

"No, sir, stick to Nomad. I like it better."

"It really was a pleasure to have you around. Once I got used to you."

She shook his hand firmly. "I kinda got used to you, too, sir. Can't say I'll miss the job, though. Uh…no offence."

"Take care. There'll be a place for you if you decide you want to come back."

"Thanks, General."

Hammond gave her a stern look. "And watch your behaviour. No more of Friday's antics."

"Yes, sir." She gave him a final salute, turned and joined Hawk in reception. He bent to pick up Nomad's gear, but she beat him to it. "Thanks, sir, but I can carry my own stuff."

"Alright, then. General Hammond, thank you for your time," Hawk said, also saluting the older man.

Hammond returned it, nodded to Nomad one last time, then closed the office door.

Hawk peered down at her. "Ready to go?"

"Uh huh." She followed slightly behind him as he strode to the elevator. "So…where exactly are we going, sir?"

The doors pinged open. "Staten Island," Hawk replied, leaning across and pressing the 'G' button. "I _did_ say you can call me Hawk, didn't I?"

"Ah. Yes, sir." Nomad studied a fraying edge on one of the rucksack straps.

"Nomad?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you really hit someone when he called you by your old codename?"

She looked at her feet so he wouldn't notice her blush. "Well…he was an ass anyway," she said defensively. "It was worth the two week suspension."

...Damn. She hadn't meant to say that last part out loud...

He eyed her sternly. "Listen to me, Nomad. I'm only going to say this once."

She looked at him questioningly.

He stared back, evidently waiting for something.

"Uh…Sorry. Yes, sir? I'm listening, sir."

He nodded. "You'd better get used to that. G.I Joe's a tight unit, just like any other. And we have our quirks. I'm happy to let the small stuff slide, but respect is something that goes without question."

"Of course, sir."

"I haven't told the Joes about your history. The only ones who know are our medics, the resident psychologist and myself. The others might ask about your past...experiences."

They were only ten floors up. This was possibly the longest the elevator had ever taken to get to the ground floor.

Nomad toyed with the straps of her gear awkwardly. "If this is about the other day, sir, I didn't mean -"

Hawk silenced her with a raised hand. "I'm willing to forget Friday and give you a chance," he said, "but _you_ need to prove that I'm not wasting my time. I know you have issues, but from now on, I won't be excusing them. The backtalk, the swearing, falling asleep on the job; it stops here, or you may as well go home and unpack your bags right now. Do I make myself clear?"

She lowered her eyes, chastened. "Yes, General."

"Good."

Nomad bit her lip, feeling she should say something else. "Uh…Hawk. I apologise. For my behaviour on Friday, I mean. It's just, you kinda sprung this on me without warning, and -"

"I understand. Let's leave it at that."

She paused again and gave him a sidelong glance. "But…can I just point out that I wasn't exactly sleeping, I just dozed - no? Right. Sorry, sir."

Longest. Elevator ride. Ever.


	4. Chapter Three

Alright, Chapter 3, in which Nomad meets some Joes! Still not much going on, but the next chapter should have some action in it! Thanks much to all who read and review, it's all appreciated! Ok, no more talk. Story!

* * *

There was a Jeep parked directly out front of the building. The radio was turned up, and an unshaven man with black hair was singing loudly - and badly - with one arm hanging out the window, tapping the side of the car in time to the music. His feet were resting up on the dashboard.

"Be nice," Hawk said, turning to Nomad.

"I will if he will, sir."

The man snapped to attention when he saw Hawk, turned the radio off, then gazed unashamedly at Nomad as she threw her stuff on the back seat then climbed in beside it. He turned in his seat, grinning at her and holding his hand out. "Hi. Name's Clutch. You're the new Joe?"

She nodded, shaking his rough hand. "Nomad."

"You got a first name?"

"Yeah. But you can call me Nomad."

He chuckled and winked a blue eye at her. "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that. I'll tell you mine."

Hawk sat in the passenger seat. "At least give her ten minutes before you start hitting on her, Clutch. Let's go."

"You got it, Hawk."

As they drove through the city, the general passed Nomad several dossiers. "You might want to read these. They'll tell you a little of what goes on at HQ, who our main targets are."

Nomad groaned. "Sir, I get sick if I read in a car. Mind if I read them later? Planes, choppers, trains, tanks, boats, fine. Hell, I can read on a hovercraft, but cars?" She shook her head.

"Hey. No hurlin' in my Jeep," Clutch said, meeting her eyes in the rear-view mirror. "She got dinged up pretty bad in our last mission. I just got her cleaned up."

"Well, I'd hate to inconvenience you," Nomad replied dryly.

Clutch snickered. The smug grin on his face seemed to be a permanent fixture.

Hawk glanced over his shoulder. "As long as it's in the next day or two. I'll give you a brief rundown on the way."

Nomad flipped through some of the papers, looking at the photos. Most were of men in what seemed to be costumes, one was a woman in black leather. She did manage to read some names before beginning to feel queasy - Cobra Commander, Dr. Mindbender and Major Sebastian Bludd were some of the more ostentatious of them. "These guys all look like they're going to a Halloween party."

Clutch laughed. "Couldn't have said it better myself. So, Nomad…"

* * *

After an hour of Clutch's lead-footed driving - and constant talking - General Hawk pointed ahead. "Here we are," he said.

Nomad leaned forward between the front seats and raised an eyebrow. "A chaplain's assistants' school? _This_ is your HQ?" She peered out the Jeep windows at the motor pool. For such a top secret organisation, she'd expected something a little more…top secret.

"The motor pool's just a front," Hawk explained patiently. "The chaplain's assistants have no idea G.I Joe even exists."

Nomad surveyed the area with narrowed eyes, trying to find something out of place. "I don't see -"

Clutch drove the Jeep into a garage with '2' painted on the front and parked on one of the hydraulic lifts. Nomad frowned out the window. It looked like any ordinary mechanic's garage, with tyres on a rack nearby, tools, and spare parts scattered everywhere. "There's nothing here." She looked from Hawk to Clutch, puzzled.

The driver sniggered. "Just you watch, sister." He waved out the window. "Hey, Zap! We got us a new bullet-stopper!"

A man with dark hair and a moustache jumped off the crate he'd been reclining on and peered curiously at her, raising a hand in greeting.

Hawk leaned forward to look past Clutch. "Send us down to the living quarters, Zap."

"All right, Hawk." Zap headed for the lift switch on the wall and pressed it. "Hope you packed some snacks, hombre," he said, looking at Nomad. "It's a long trip!"

"Huh? What's that sup -"

The Jeep shuddered, then the entire lift platform began to sink into the floor.

"What the -?" Nomad sat forward again, looking out the windscreen in awe as a huge underground room appeared. "Well, fuck me," she breathed. Belatedly, she remembered Hawk's warning and snuck a sideways glance at him.

If the General heard, he ignored it. "Welcome to the Pit," he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

She opened her window all the way and leaned out, gazing around eagerly. To her right, tanks, jeeps and other vehicles were lined up neatly. On the left was a long row of heavy artillery. Men and women wandered around, some of them wearing green shirts, others wearing more specialised uniforms. A few turned and waved as the jeep descended among them.

"This is…" Nomad didn't bother to finish, unable to think of socially acceptable words to describe the massive underground headquarters.

Clutch turned in his seat. "Pretty awesome, ain't it?"

She nodded her agreement.

The lift continued down past the briefing and training room levels. Several Joes were working out in the training room - sparring, lifting weights or using the exercise equipment. A door at the far end of the long chamber was labelled 'Pool'.

"And here's our stop," Hawk said when the lift finally ground to a halt. "Living quarters. There's one more floor underneath; the computer level." Nomad grabbed her gear and hopped out of the car alongside the General.

"So, Nomad, how 'bout we meet up later and I'll give you a personal tour?" Clutch asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "I think I can find my own way around, thanks," she answered as the lift started up again and began to rise.

"You sure? Coz I'm off duty tonight, and -"

"Not a chance."

He winked. "Well, if you reconsider, you know where to find me." He jerked a thumb upwards.

"Clutch," Hawk said warningly.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." The Jeep - and Clutch - vanished from sight.

"Is he -"

"Yes." Hawk gestured for her to follow him. "You just passed your first test, by the way."

She looked up, alarmed. "There was a test? What test?"

He chuckled and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Clutch. If you can put up with him, you can put up with almost anything."

* * *

After a quick tour of the level - the living quarters, laundry, hospital - Hawk turned to her. "Once you get settled in, go down to laundry and you'll be issued your BDUs and some new dress greens. Your medical exam is at 1600 hours, then the rest of the day's yours to get your bearings."

"Thank you, sir."

"Your physical is tomorrow at 0630 with the top sergeant, Duke. And don't forget to read those files."

"Okay."

He walked down the corridor to an open door. Sticking her head around the corner, Nomad saw a jaw-droppingly stunning woman lounging on one of two beds in the small room.

"Hi!" the woman said, looking up and smiling brightly. "Nomad, right? Guess we're roomies, huh?"

"Uh...yeah. Looks like."

"I'm Covergirl. Dump your stuff, take a load off." She gestured to the unoccupied bed, then frowned as she realised all Nomad had was the one rucksack. The swag had gone into storage; she wouldn't be needing it anymore.

Hawk nodded. "Covergirl will help you get sorted." He turned to the door, looking back just before he closed it behind him. "Welcome home, Nomad."

* * *

Lifeline was a kind-faced, soft-spoken man with tinted glasses and a scruffy mop of dark hair. He nodded as he looked over her papers. "Well, everything seems in order here. You're in good health." His tone and expression turned grave. "But you should really get more sleep, you know."

Nomad shrugged. "I'm used to it. It's not a problem."

The red-clad medic shook his head. "Not good enough. Sorry. Maybe it's not a problem for a secretary, but a soldier needs to be at her best in the field where other people are depending on her."

Nomad bristled. "Are you saying -"

Lifeline leaned back in his seat and tilted his head a little as he looked at her. "I'm just saying you can't function properly on a few hours of sleep a night," he answered calmly. "It's nothing personal, Nomad, it's just a fact."

"I -" She sighed, wondering just how he'd managed to make her feel guilty without actually reprimanding her. "Sorry," she muttered.

He shook his head. "It's okay." He gave her a self-effacing smile. "Soldiers don't seem to like medics much. Probably because we like to confine them to hospital beds."

"Yeah, that might be it."

He turned his attention back to her paperwork, flipped the page and scanned down it, his eyes moving quickly back and forth behind his glasses. "You've been prescribed sleeping pills."

She nodded.

"How do they work for you?"

"Sometimes they help, sometimes they don't."

"You take the correct dosage?"

"Yes." It came out a little more defensively than she'd wanted. "I mean, yeah, I take the right amount." She didn't mention the extra one or two occasionally; they wouldn't hurt much.

"Do you take them every night?"

"Just some," she said, shrugging. "Depends on how I feel."

He frowned. "Meaning…?"

"Meaning...you know, that sometimes I'm tired enough to sleep without them. Other nights I work out until I'm exhausted."

"Oh." Lifeline sounded relieved. He made a note in his file, then beamed at her. "Alright, you're free," he said. "I can refill your prescription when you need it, just drop it in to me. Otherwise, I don't want to see you in here too often."

She glanced out the office door. "Don't worry, I've had enough of hospitals to last me the rest of my life," she replied darkly.

Lifeline chuckled. "Thought that might be the case. But I mean it. Get some sleep. Next time I see you, I want it to be without those dark circles under your eyes."

Nomad decided that Lifeline was okay…for a medic.

* * *

The laundry/clothes restoration room was bustling with the troops Covergirl had called 'greenshirts'. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

Nomad turned to see one of them smiling at her. The patch on his - well, on his green shirt -read Martin.

"Hope so. I'm here to pick up BDUs and dress greens for Nomad."

Martin clicked his fingers. "I saw that before…" He headed for a shelf half-hidden behind a rack of clean and pressed dress greens. "Here. General Hawk had your sizes sent down yesterday so we could have them ready for you."

Not bothering to ask how Hawk had got her sizes, Nomad lifted the small stack of clothes. There were two pairs of dark green camouflage pants and three matching shirts. With a pang in her gut, she realised that they almost looked the same as her old uniform. No surprises there, one set of cammies looked pretty much like all the rest. Still…the mottled greens reminded her of the jungle.

She'd had to throw the old uniform away because the blood wouldn't wash out.

"Ma'am? Something wrong? They _are_ the right size, aren't they?"

"What?" She glanced up. The poor guy looked worried; she suspected he may have been traumatised by a Joe with the wrong uniform before.

"The BDUs. Are they okay?"

She checked. "Yeah, they're fine. I was just thinking about something else, that's all." She inspected the rest of the battle dress. Along with the cammo gear, there were three white t-shirts, a heavy jacket, a cap and two pairs of combat boots.

The greenshirt turned to the dress uniforms on the rack. "And here're your formals."

"Thanks, Martin."

She'd never liked the dress greens. The jackets were restrictive, the shirts were irritating, the shoes had to be too shiny and she'd _never_ been a skirt person. And the little hats looked stupid. The only good thing about formal uniforms was that they weren't worn often. She reluctantly took the hanger, nodded to Martin and left the busy room.

* * *

"Okay, let me run through this again," Nomad said, lying on the bed with her head hanging over the edge. "Cobra Commander is the leader of the terrorist organisation known as Cobra."

Covergirl, sitting on the floor beside the bed, nodded. "Uh huh."

"But you've never seen his face, all you've seen is this -" Nomad held out the photo of Cobra Commander with his face covered by a blue hood with eyes cut out, "- and this." She held out an almost identical photo, but this time the Commander's head was covered by a blue helmet and a smooth metal mask with no details - not even eyes. "And you don't know his real name."

"Correct."

"Handy." She paused, studying the second photo. "How does he _see_ out of that?"

Covergirl shrugged. "Maybe you can ask him when we catch him next."

"Funny." Nomad reached down and picked up another of the dossiers that Hawk had given her. "This guy, Destro, is Cobra's weapons supplier." Another photo of another metal-masked man. This mask actually looked like a face, though.

Covergirl pointed to the photo of the woman in black leather. "Who is involved - possibly romantically - with the Baroness, who also works for Cobra. When it suits her."

Nomad looked up as there was a knock on the door. It opened, and two more women stepped in: Scarlett and Lady Jaye. Their room was to the right of Covergirl and Nomad's. Covergirl had introduced them quickly just before Nomad had gone to visit Lifeline.

"What's all this?" Scarlett asked curiously, gesturing to the files spread across the floor.

"Hawk gave me reading material," Nomad explained. "I'm trying to figure Cobra out."

"Who are you up to?"

"Baroness."

Lady Jaye and Scarlett sat on the floor beside Covergirl. "You just wait until you get to Zartan and his Dreadnoks."

* * *

It took Nomad most of the afternoon to go through the Cobra files. Covergirl, Scarlett and Lady Jaye hung around to answer any questions; she got to know them a little better as they chattered among themselves. Nomad managed to evade talking too much about herself - she'd become quite the expert at fielding questions - but she surprisingly found she enjoyed the company. After a while, she was even giggling a little at some of the stories they told, mostly silly stories about the other Joes.

Talkative Covergirl's real name was Courtney Krieger; she was an ex-model and makeup artist extraordinaire. She laughed at the look of surprise on Nomad's face. "What?"

Nomad had to ask. "How does a _model_ end up a tank jockey?"

Covergirl waved a hand. "Walking up and down a catwalk just wasn't…satisfying anymore. I wanted to make a difference, do something useful."

"And maybe prove you're not just a pretty face?" Nomad asked with a grin.

"That, too."

Scarlett's name was Shana O'Hara. Trained in martial arts, she was one of the Joes' hand-to-hand combat instructors. When Nomad admitted she'd never had the discipline for martial arts, Scarlett smiled and said, "That's alright. We have plenty of brawlers in G.I Joe, too. Still, I'd like to see you try."

"No. You wouldn't. Really."

"Oh? Why not?"

"It's...just really not my thing. I'll stick to brawling. I'm kinda good at it."

Alison Hart-Burnett was Lady Jaye's filename. Apparently, there was some distant relationship between her and Destro, the Scottish arms dealer who supplied Cobra with their weapons. Lady Jaye and the warrant officer, Flint, had a thing going.

"What about frat regs?" Nomad asked, looking up and raising an eyebrow.

Lady Jaye shrugged. "Hawk's generally fine with it. No pun intended."

"Really?" Hawk had said he didn't mind letting the little things slide. Frat regs weren't exactly 'little', as far as Nomad was concerned. "He doesn't care?"

"Not as much as he probably should," Scarlett admitted.

"What about you two?" Nomad pressed, looking at the redhead and the former model.

"Oh, you'll meet the guys eventually. Snake Eyes is also a hand-to-hand instructor," Scarlett explained.

"And Beachhead's the drill sergeant," Covergirl added. "They're both kinda hard to miss; one wears all black and is a ninja, the other's roughly the size of - and sounds much like - an angry grizzly bear."

"A…ninja."

"Yep."

"A real ninja."

"Yep. We have two of 'em."

"Two ninjas?"

"Yep."

Nomad shook her head in disbelief. Let the little things slide, indeed. "And…none of this causes tension?"

Scarlett grinned. "Nope. Speaking of tension, I hear you already got yourself a warning from the general."

Nomad felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "How'd you hear that?" she asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

"I overheard him speaking to Duke about your physical tomorrow." The grin grew wider. "I believe he mentioned something about pugil sticks."

Nomad groaned. Getting bashed around by an oversized cotton bud wasn't her ideal way of starting the day. "Great."

* * *

The four women entered the mess hall together for dinner. Nomad tried to ignore the furtive glances cast in her direction, but every time she turned around she caught somebody peering at her curiously.

Scarlett noticed her shifting awkwardly. "Don't worry about them," she said. "Better they look now and get it over with."

"Easy for you to say, _you're_ not the one they're gawking at."

Movement caught Nomad's attention. She turned to see that it was Clutch waving at her, his white t-shirt covered with black smears. The rest of the guys at the table he was sitting at were equally dirty; she figured they must be mechanics. She waved back hesitantly, then groaned as he leaned across to his buddies, talking and pointing at her. A couple of the men - one tanned, with blonde hair and beard, the other sandy-haired - turned to look at her, smiling.

"Oh, so you know Clutch already?" Covergirl asked wryly, rolling her eyes and flipping Clutch off. He returned the gesture with a smirk, then settled down to eat.

Lady Jaye sniggered. "What she means is 'Oh, so Clutch has asked you out on a date already?'."

"He drove Hawk and me here," Nomad explained. "Talks a lot, but he doesn't seem so bad."

"Ah. You obviously don't know him well enough yet."

They grabbed plates and joined the queue leading past food prep. Looking along the line, Covergirl bounced eagerly on her toes. "Yes! Roadblock commandeered the kitchen tonight!"

Nomad followed the former model's gaze to see a huge - no, _mountainous _- man standing behind the bench and ladling out what looked like made-from-scratch spaghetti bolognaise, lasagne, burgers, various salads and fries. The apron and chef's hat the guy wore looked absurdly tiny and out of place on him.

"Roadblock's our heavy gunner," Scarlett explained. "His weapon of choice is a .50 cal Browning."

Nomad raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Yeah, right." A .50 calibre Browning heavy machine gun wasn't something to be scoffed at. Two men working together could barely lift a fully loaded one. She'd tried once, and had struggled to lift just the barrel of it an inch off the floor. Roadblock was without a doubt huge, but she wasn't about to believe that even he could lift and fire one with any kind of accuracy. The gun was called a 'heavy' machine gun for a damn good reason.

"Hey, Roadblock," Lady Jaye said when she stopped in front of him. "Nomad doesn't believe us. Tell her you like the Browning."

Roadblock surveyed Nomad for a moment, plopped a generous serving of lasagne onto her plate as she gestured to it and nodded. "Ain't no joke; I like my ma-deuce." He gestured to the big salad bowls beside the main dishes. "Salad? Or would you perhaps rather an unappetising side of grease like the rest of these turkeys?"

"Uh…salad, please," Nomad said, upon seeing the look on his face when he pointed to the fries.

"Wise," Covergirl muttered.

Nomad watched as Roadblock arranged her salad nicely. "Okay, so you're telling me you can lift a .50 BMG. On your own. _And _you can fire it?"

"Damn straight, kid."

Nomad sized him up, then shook her head. "Nope. I'll have to see it to believe it."

"Alright," he said in good humour, "but don't get snitchy when I say 'I told you so'." He shooed her away so he could serve the next guy.

"And the name's Nomad, not 'kid'," she called over her shoulder.

He waved his ladle at her dismissively without looking.

"What'd _he_ do to get stuck on KP?" Nomad asked Covergirl as they turned and searched the tables for Lady Jaye and Scarlett.

"Nothing. Roadblock loves to cook. And _we_ all love it when he does."

They spotted Scarlett's flaming red hair and wound their way through mess hall. She and Lady Jaye were sitting at a table with a few other guys.

Covergirl sat between Scarlett and Jaye. Nomad sat to Jaye's other side, glancing nervously at the other Joes. One of them, opposite Lady Jaye, wore a beret. From the way he and Jaye were talking to each other, Nomad guessed he was the warrant officer, Flint.

"This is Flint," Lady Jaye said, pointing at him with her fork and affirming Nomad's suspicions.

Flint nodded to her. "You're the new Joe."

"I've been getting that a lot," she replied without thinking. "Is it that obvious?"

Lady Jaye elbowed her in the ribs not so subtly.

She looked up. Flint's jaw was set. "Sorry, sir. Yes, sir, I'm the new Joe."

"Nomad, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll tell you once; you don't speak to a superior - ouch!" He looked at Lady Jaye. "Did you just kick me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Flint cleared his throat and returned his attention to Nomad. "Ah…good to meet you. And it's Flint, not sir."

Lady Jaye leaned over. "Don't worry, I've got him whipped."

"I heard that, Lady, and no, you don't."

Another guy reached across the table to shake Nomad's hand. "Gung Ho," he said. He was bald, wore his shirt unbuttoned and had a large tattoo of the Marines crest inked across his chest.

"Is that your name, or your attitude?"

"Both," Scarlett said with a laugh before Gung Ho could answer.

The other burly, slightly older man sitting at the table - at the far end, with a few seats between him and Scarlett - looked up, nodded, and went back to eating, hunched over his plate almost protectively.

"That's Deep Six," Gung Ho said, not bothering to keep his voice down. "He don't talk much. Best deep sea diver we've got, but not a real 'people person', if ya get my drift."

Nomad nodded, getting his drift completely. "Deep sea diver?"

"Yeah. He goes right down, where the pressure'd have you flatter than one of Roadblock's crepes. He loves it; guy's more comfy down there with the fishies than he is up here with us."

Maybe she should ask about becoming a diver. Nomad turned again to watch Deep Six. He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and glanced at her. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and quickly averted her eyes.

Flint gestured to her plate. "You'd better start eating, or Roadblock will come over here wondering why you aren't. The man takes his food seriously."

Nomad looked down at her plate, tucked into her lasagne, and almost died. "Son of a bitch, this is _good_!"

"You think _that's_ good, you just wait til dessert."

* * *

Nomad hadn't eaten so well in...actually, she couldn't remember the last meal she'd had that hadn't been frozen or bought.

"You chose a good night to join the team," Covergirl said, as they both got ready for bed. "Roadblock doesn't cook every night."

"Whatever you guys eat, it's probably better than what I'm used to," Nomad admitted. "And I'm not technically part of the team. I haven't had my physical yet."

Covergirl waved a hand. "Don't worry, you practically became a Joe when you said 'yes' to Hawk. You'll do fine tomorrow. Speaking of which, we should hit the hay. I have PT at 5.30 tomorrow. When's your bash with Duke?"

"6.30." She wasn't sure she liked the term 'bash'.

The model turned her bedside lamp off. "A piece of advice? Wear thick socks. The mud gets cold."

"Mud. I hate mud." Nomad turned off her own light and rolled to face the wall. "Night."

"Night, Nomad," Covergirl answered through a yawn. "Hope you don't snore."

No, Nomad didn't say, but I might wake up screaming again.

She didn't. With her belly full, and with all the excitement of the day, and not even having to take her medication, she slept soundly.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four! Well...it didn't turn out quite as I had planned. There's just something about that doesn't seem right. It's too jumpy, or something...maybe I'm introducing too many characters...I dunno. Might do a rewrite if I can find the time.

Aaaaanyway, here it is!

* * *

"Son of a -" The curse ended in spluttering as a somewhat dazed Nomad faceplanted and got a mouthful of mud.

Duke looked down at her, unimpressed, his pugil stick held casually in one hand after bashing her hard across the shoulders. "Pathetic."

She dragged herself onto her hands and knees, griping. Each end of a pugil stick was padded, but that didn't mean the blows were any softer. "Okay, so I'm a little out of practice. Fuck, it's not like -"

The top sergeant planted the end of his stick in the middle of Nomad's back and leaned on it, pinning her like a bug on a specimen board. "What did you say?" he snarled.

"I said let me up and I'll kick -" She winced as he put more weight on her spine. "I can do better, sir."

He gave her a pointed look as he let her up. "That's what I thought."

Nomad picked up her weapon. It was slick with the black mud the Joes seemed to prefer to train in. It reminded her of the small trails she'd wandered in the Amazon, except that it didn't smell quite as bad. She doubted she'd find bugs as big here, either.

A group of Joes strode by, just finished PT. From the corner of her eye she saw some of them stop to watch. She couldn't afford to glance over to see if it was anyone she knew, what with Duke eyeing her.

"Let's go, Nomad!" Covergirl cheered. "Kick his ass! No offence, Duke, but I hope you choke!"

Duke didn't blink. Didn't even crack a smile. The guy was serious.

Nomad lunged, swinging the right end pad at his knee. Duke parried her strike and retaliated with one of his own. She knocked it aside and down, then swiped at his head.

Duke ducked, then jumped back to dodge a sharp jab to the chest. "Better." He snuck a glancing blow to her ribs, whacked her on the hip as she stumbled back, then knelt and swung the pugil stick around, sweeping her legs from under her. She landed hard on her back with a loud splat. There were a few sympathetic 'ooohs' from the spectators and a polite smattering of applause for the top sergeant.

"Better, but still not good enough. Lazy soldiers won't cut it in G.I Joe. I want everything you've got!" Duke stood over her, then gestured for her to get up.

Everything? She'd give him everything…"Yes, sir." She wriggled in the mud a bit, trying to look as pathetic as he thought she was. "Uh…I'm stuck. Help me up? Just this once?"

He gave an impatient sigh and nodded. Nomad grabbed just above the padded end of Duke's pugil stick. He braced himself, ready to pull her up.

She pushed the stick toward him suddenly. It caught him in the gut and as he doubled over she rolled to her feet. She cracked her own pugil stick over his back before he recovered, then planted a combat boot on his ass and kicked him forward. He somersaulted easily to his feet, mud flinging everywhere.

They circled each other. Nomad slid one hand slowly across the muddy grip of her weapon. She allowed her eyes to flick over to the watching Joes - and as Duke leaped forward, believing her distracted, she dodged aside and flicked the small handful of mud she'd scooped off her stick into his face. As he swiped at his eyes, she hooked her pugil stick behind his and yanked it from his grip. It landed at her feet; she ignored it and smacked him across the head, then swung her stick right around to catch behind his knees.

Duke went down with a grunt. She pounced, knocking him onto his back and sitting on his chest, the grip of the stick resting firmly across his throat.

The onlookers cheered. Well, most of them. Nomad heard one voice grumbling, "That's dirty fightin', that is. Ah wouldn't stand fer it. Not in trainin', anyways."

Covergirl's voice answered lightly. "Shut up, Beachhead. You can't fight clean in a mud pit."

Ah. So that was the grizzly bear.

Duke peered up at her, his blue eyes bright beneath the mud caked on his face. "Well, it's shabby, but it works. Welcome to the team."

Nomad hung her head and breathed out a sigh of relief, suddenly feeling a whole lot lighter.

Duke grinned. "I'd shake your hand, but…"

She realised she was still sitting on him and his arms were pinned by her legs. She scrambled to her feet, tossing the stick to the edge of the mud pit. "Sorry."

He rose to his knees - and lunged for the pugil stick still by Nomad's feet. She stomped on it; the mucky grip slipped through his fingers. He settled for ramming his shoulder into her belly and tackling her to the ground.

She took a moment, the breath knocked from her lungs. "I…thought we were…done. Sir."

Duke shook his head. "I never said that," he replied matter-of-factly.

She sat up, grimacing. "Are we done _now_?"

"Yeah, we're done now." Duke squelched to his feet and held out his hand. Nomad wrapped her fingers around his wrist and allowed him to pull her up, then waded to the edge of the mud pit. She was covered from head to foot in the damn stuff - it was in her ears, up her nose, down her shirt. She was fairly certain some had managed to get into her underwear. Now _there_ was a feeling she'd never get used to.

"You'd better hit the showers," he advised. "Once that stuff dries…"

"Oh, I know all about mud," she said with a small smile. "Trust me."

* * *

She felt better after a long, hot shower - the key word there being 'long'. After a year of three minute thirty nine second showers, to stand under the water for _ten_ _whole minutes_ and not have it turn freezing was heaven.

Okay. Maybe ten minutes _was_ a little excessive under normal circumstances - Lady Jaye had knocked on the stall door and asked jokingly if she'd drowned - but Nomad felt she deserved it. She'd just officially made it onto the G.I Joe team after an hour and a half of mud, beep tests, mud, push ups, laps of the perimeter fence, mud, obstacle courses and, of course, the dreaded pugil stick battle. In mud. All with Duke snarling at her.

She dressed, pulled her damp hair into a ponytail that was nowhere near as impressive as Scarlett's, and made her way to the mess hall for breakfast, stomach grumbling. Grabbing a bowl of cereal and some toast, she sat at a table at the far end of the room, where she could see most of the hall from her seat. Slipping her iPod out of her pocket, she put the earphones in and turned the music up loud.

She was halfway through her cereal when somebody yanked one of her earphones out and leaned close to her. "Boo."

The bowl went rolling fell to the floor, leaving a puddle of milk and soggy cornflakes across the table. Her chair flew backward and tipped over as she sprang to her feet, at the same time jerking her elbow back and connecting with soft tissue. She whirled around, grabbed the guy and shoved him facedown onto the table, his right hand shoved up between his shoulderblades.

"Oof!"

She immediately realised what she'd done and backed off, blushing furiously.

Crap. Great start to the day, moron.

The entire mess hall went silent. All eyes fixed on her. "That's another fifty bucks you owe me, Footloose," said one guy in a flight suit. "I told you Shipreck was gonna get it."

"I heard that, Ace," said the Joe she'd hit - Shipwreck.

"Sorry, good buddy, but it was an easy bet."

Footloose groaned. "Ace…c'mon, man."

"Cough it up."

Shipwreck straightened and turned to Nomad, rubbing his stomach. "Ouch. What'd ya go and do _that_ for?" he whined.

After Roadblock and Gung Ho last night and the six foot two top sergeant this morning, Nomad had decided that the term 'big' was just too generic. There were a few exceptions, like Lifeline, who was a little shorter and didn't look as bulky under the red jumpsuit, but most of the Joes were tall, well-muscled guys. Not that Nomad was small, she stood five foot eight and weighed a good sixty five kilos - all muscle, thank you.

This one _didn't_ happen to be an exception - she suspected the only reason she'd got the drop on him was because he hadn't expected her to freak out so completely. His hair, beard and eyes were dark brown. His blue shirt had the sleeves rolled up, revealing an anchor tattoo on his left forearm. A white sailor hat perched on his head; somehow it had managed to stay on during the attack.

"What'd you go and sneak up on me for?" she shot back, pressing a hand to her rapidly beating heart. "You _knew_ I had earphones in!"

"I didn't mean to scare ya," he said defensively.

She scowled.

"Well, not _that_ much, anyway."

"Uh huh." She reached past him and picked her iPod out of the mess on the table, wiping it on her BDUs. Tinny music still emanated from the headphones. She turned it off and shoved it back into her pocket.

"Aw, look, I'm sorry," the sailor said in earnest, holding his hands up. "I didn't -"

"Don't worry about it," Nomad interrupted. She could feel her heart rate slowing to a normal pace. "It's okay."

Another man hurried over with a cloth in his hand. This early in the morning, he already had camouflage paint smeared across his cheeks and chin. "Don't mind Shipwreck, he don't mean anythin' by it. Anyway, it's only spilled milk, an' you know what they say 'bout that." He smiled brightly at her. "It's Nomad, right?"

She nodded, took the dishcloth and sopped up the mess, stuffing it into the bowl and absently thinking that it was still too early in the morning for the guy to be so cheerful.

"It's real nice to meet you. The name's Dusty."

"Yeah," Shipwreck interjected, "nice to meet ya…even though you _did_ elbow me in the bread basket."

"Well, you shouldn't sneak up on people," Nomad retorted.

"I'll remember that," he muttered.

She waved a hand and shook her head, then salvaged the toast, sitting down again.

"Hey, I saw you trainin' with Duke this mornin," Dusty said, sitting to her right. "So, you're officially a Joe now, huh?"

"If I don't get kicked out for attacking a fellow soldier."

Dusty gave a snort. "Soldier, my ass."

"You insinuatin' somethin'?" The sailor puffed his chest out and sat on her other side. "Ah, I've had _way_ worse than that. Just last week, I -"

Nomad decided it was time to go and gathered up the dirty dishes. "Well. Now that everybody here thinks the new Joe is crazy, I'm off to the firing range," she said. A broad grin crossed her face. "I'm getting my new rifle today."

* * *

"Hey Gyrene, when are you gonna learn to shoot straight?"

"Why don't we put a SEAL in front of me so I can practice?"

Nomad raised an eyebrow and tried to hide a smile as the Marine and the Navy SEAL glared at each other, lying in a trench on the firing range. They had to be Leatherneck and Wetsuit. Apparently the two men were the best of buddies. If Scarlett hadn't told her about them yesterday, Nomad never would have guessed, the way the two were cursing at each other now.

"Hi." The curly-haired SEAL looked over at her.

"Hey."

"You're -"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm Nomad, the new Joe."

"Actually, I was gonna say you're the one who crunched Shipwreck before in the mess hall, but your version works, too."

Nomad blushed. "I didn't mean to," she said defensively. "He snuck up behind me."

Now that she thought about it, that was happening quite often lately.

"If you ask me, that lazy sailor's been needin' that for a long time," Leatherneck said gruffly.

The Marine and the SEAL introduced themselves properly. "You need help with that rifle?" Wetsuit asked.

She finished setting up. The rifle she was using wasn't actually hers; she'd get that when she was done. _This _assault rifle used paint pellets. "Nope, I'm good."

"How good?" Wetsuit pressed.

Nomad grinned. "Well, give me some good ground cover and I'm pretty sneaky."

In the Amazon, she'd picked off plenty of targets. The time she remembered the most was when a small group of insurgents had stumbled across her camp. She'd been away trying to find food, and had returned to find them scavenging around her camouflage net. An aimed burst of fire had seen one die and the rest immediately start firing wildly in all directions. She'd picked them off one by one from a tree.

Somebody was talking, and it wasn't Leatherneck or Wetsuit.

"I _said_ let's see."

She snapped her head around to see a third guy in a dusky blue-grey uniform squatting by the edge of the trench. Curly blonde hair stuck out underneath his helmet. Red goggles hid his eyes. He held his sniper rifle easily, as if it were an extension of his own arm.

"I'm Lowlight. I'll be your range instructor," the sniper said bluntly. "You're all set?"

"Yep."

"The trenches are your cover. I'll pop up targets by remote; it's your job to get within distance of them and take them out. Leatherneck and Wetsuit will also be out there, trying to find you. Got it?"

She nodded, glancing over at the other two. Wetsuit gave her a thumbs up. Leatherneck just looked eager to shoot something. "Got it."

"Go. Leatherneck, Wetsuit, give her two minutes."

"Am _I_ allowed to shoot _them_, Lowlight?" she asked with a grin.

"If you can get a clear shot."

Nomad took off over the top, heading for another trench. Almost immediately, a target popped up a few metres to her left. She squeezed the trigger, and the target snapped itself to the ground, covered in splats of green paint.

She dove into the next trench and kept moving, running in a crouch with the butt of the rifle pressed into her shoulder. Somewhere ahead, she heard a hiss; she popped her head up quickly and saw the second target.

A yellow splotch appeared beside her. "What? Two minutes is up already?" She fired at the target, took it down and sprinted, already hearing heavy footfalls approaching.

* * *

"Time's up! Bring it in!"

Nomad glanced around, then emerged from her hiding spot beneath the dirt coloured camouflage net and dragged herself out of the trench. Just a few metres away, Leatherneck did the same. He had a small splash of Nomad's green paint on his arm. "Not bad," he admitted in his gruff voice.

She turned to show him the paint on the back of her shoulder. "But not good enough. Were you yellow?"

"Wetsuit was; I had blue." He shook his head. "Now, all I'll hear is that _he_ shot you and _I_ missed."

"I'm sorry. Next time I'll stand still. Don't worry, I got him pretty good."

The SEAL - with a green patch on his chest - joined them as they wandered back over to Lowlight. As Leatherneck predicted, the first words out of Wetsuit's mouth were gloating.

Lowlight nodded and inspected her when she was close enough. "Shoulder wound; not fatal," he decided. "Good."

He turned his attention to Wetsuit. "Not so good. You're dead."

"Yeah, yeah. Lucky shot."

Leatherneck chuckled. "Yeah. Lucky you're dumb enough to stop right in front of her."

* * *

Leatherneck and Wetsuit kept her entertained with their bickering for the remaining half hour, and then it was time for Nomad's hand-to-hand session with Scarlett. It wasn't an official session; Scarlett had mentioned martial arts training again last night at dinner, and Nomad hadn't been able to think of a good excuse quick enough to get out of it. Official hand-to-hand would start the next day with the other Joes, once the instructors had some idea of Nomad's skill level.

Nomad managed to find the dojo just in time. Kicking off her shoes and socks and leaving them at the door, she stepped inside.

She almost walked right back out again. Standing in the middle of a padded mat were Scarlett and two other people. The one in black Nomad figured was Snake Eyes.

She actually gulped. He looked absolutely formidable. _Everything_ he wore was black. No part of his skin was visible. He wore gloves and a mask, with a visor over his eyes and his belt was bristling with pointy things. He stood straight and still, his posture perfect. He tilted his head at her, and even though she couldn't see his eyes, she could feel him scrutinising her.

She fought the urge to bolt out the door.

The other ninja wore white. It looked to Nomad like a more traditional ninja costume - not that she knew much about ninjas or what they wore. It just didn't seem quite as…extreme…as Snake Eyes' outfit.

He was staring at her fiercely. It was giving her the creeps.

Scarlett grinned. "Nomad, meet Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow, our resident ninjas."

"Uh…hi." Her voice was a little higher than usual. She cleared her throat. "Hello, I mean." Still high. She shuffled her bare feet awkwardly, then threw in a small bow for good measure. Just in case.

Snake Eyes waved. Storm Shadow nodded. "Hello, Nomad."

Dammit, even his 'hello' freaked her out.

Snake Eyes' hands began to move rapidly. Scarlett watched, then turned to Nomad. "Snake wants to know why you look so worried."

Nomad gave a nervous laugh. "Really? You need me to answer that?"

Storm moved forward, walking a slow circle around Nomad. "You _should_ be worried." He gestured to Snake Eyes. "Either one of us could kill you with a single touch."

She raised an eyebrow. The ninja's cocky voice immediately riled her. "Excuse me?"

"Right here." He lightly pressed his fingers to her neck. "With the right amount of pressure, you'd drop dead."

She narrowed her eyes, then lifted a hand and slapped his away. Or she tried to, anyway, his hand was gone before she got close. "What is that, a threat?"

"No threat," the ninja replied with a casual shrug, backing away. "Just making a point."

She glared, and a faint sense of self-preservation tried to surface, but she couldn't help herself. "Yeah, well you can take your point and stick it up -"

Storm turned and studied her silently, then his eyes crinkled slightly. "I think I like this one," he said, turning to Snake.

Nomad heard a faint huffing sound, and it was only when she saw Snake's shoulders shaking that she realised he was laughing. His hands flew again, and Scarlett laughed too. The tension left the room.

"Okay, clearly that's at my expense," Nomad said wryly. "Ah…so I'm guessing I'll need to learn sign?"

Scarlett waved a hand impatiently. "We can start that later. Right now we're here for some martial arts!" She gestured for Nomad to step onto the mat.

"I _am_ going to die, aren't I?"

"No." Beneath the mask, she could see Storm Shadow smiling wickedly. "We'd just _hate_ to deprive you of your afternoon PT with Beachhead."

* * *

Nomad glancing apprehensively down the line of Joes as they waited for Beachhead to finish eyeing them over critically. PT was about to begin.

"If it ain't our new li'l bullet-stopper," Beachhead rumbled, looking down at Nomad when he reached her. He wore a balaclava and all she could see were the fierce brown eyes. "Thinks she got what it takes to be a Joe."

Covergirl had warned her about talking back to the sergeant major. Nomad kept her eyes firmly ahead and bit her tongue.

"You think you can handle bein' a Joe, scrawny?"

"Yes, sergeant major."

"What?"

"Yes, sergeant major!" she yelled.

"Well _thinkin'_ ain't good enough!" He glared down the line. "Twenty laps of the perimeter, then push ups til I say stop! No laggin'! Anyone drops behind, they get KP for a week! Move it, you pansies!"

* * *

Nomad collapsed face down onto her bed.

"Ah," Covergirl said, looking up from her book. "First day as a Joe. Don't worry, everyone goes hard on the new kid the first few days."

"That doesn't make me feel better, Covergirl."

"Wasn't supposed to, I was just prepping you for what's to come." The former model grinned. "How was your hand-to-hand session?"

"It wasn't hand-to-hand," Nomad said, her voice muffled by the pillow. "It was hell."

"Got thrown around a lot, huh? Stormy has a habit of doing that."

"I spent more time on my back than I did on my feet."

The door opened. "Hmm, sounds like fun," Lady Jaye said with a smirk.

"Not _that_ kind of 'on my back'," Nomad said, sitting up.

"Yeah, yeah. Scarlett told me. Wish I'd been there; I could've got a laugh out of it. It's always funny to see Snake and Storm torturing the newbies. Did Storm do the whole 'we can kill you with one touch'?"

Nomad nodded miserably. Lady Jaye and Covergirl both laughed.

"I've known you two a day, and you're already being bitchy. Nice." Nomad chuckled too, then clutched at her ribs. "Ouch. It hurts to laugh."

"Well, I didn't come to bitch," Jaye explained. "Just came to see if you two wanted to come off base for dinner with me and some of the others."

Covergirl was already putting together an outfit. "Don't have to ask me twice; it's meatloaf night." She shuddered.

Jaye turned expectantly to Nomad.

"I think I'll pass. Maybe next time."

Covergirl dragged her off the bed. "Oh, no you don't. You don't want to be here for meatloaf night. Anyway, you're officially Joe now, we need to celebrate!" She opened Nomad's bedside drawer and started to rifle through it. "Is this all you've got? I know you only had the one pack when you got here, but…seriously?"

Nomad frowned. "What's wrong with my clothes?" she asked defensively.

"You have none."

"I have plenty! Look!" She grabbed the white three tailored shirts and waved them in the other woman's face.

Lady Jaye peered over Covergirl's shoulder at the rest of the drawer's contents - three pairs of black pants, two pairs of shorts and her underwear. "One drawer doth not 'plenty of clothes' make," she stated firmly. "This means we need to go shopping. ASAP."

"But I -"

"_These_ you can wear," Covergirl decided, picking out the shortest pair of shorts. As she held them up - saying how cute they'd look with one of her tops, the red one with the straps - a small package of tissue paper fell out of them.

"What's this?" Lady Jaye wondered, pouncing on it before Nomad could stop her.

"Nothing." Nomad held her hand out, opening and closing her fingers. "Just something -"

Jaye weighed the thing. "It's heavy…pointy…one end feels like some kind of material…I think I smell a medal!"

"Lady -"

"You've been holding out on us!" Covergirl exclaimed, smiling dazzlingly. "You didn't say you had a fancy medal! What is it? Can we see?"

Nomad paused, then shrugged, figuring it couldn't hurt. She didn't have to tell them the whole story. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope."

"Go on, then."

Despite her apprehension, she had to giggle at the sight of Lady Jaye and Covergirl playfully fighting over who got to unwrap the paper. Jaye won and rolled the medal into her hand. "I'll be damned," she said, holding it up for Covergirl to see. "This is a Congressional Medal of Honour!"

"And you keep it stuffed in a drawer?" Covergirl asked in disbelief. "In your shorts?"

Nomad shrugged. "I don't wear those shorts much."

"Clearly."

"Can I ask…?" Lady Jaye rewrapped the medal and passed it to Nomad, who immediately chucked it back in with her clothes.

Covergirl and Jaye were both looking at her. She shifted uncomfortably. "It's not something I like to talk about. I didn't want it in the first place."

Covergirl nodded, though she seemed a little disappointed. Lady Jaye was giving Nomad an inscrutable look.

Nomad knew the silence was about to turn awkward, so she clapped her hands and put on a grin. "So. Show me this damn top I'm supposed to wear."

* * *

"SURPRISE!"

Nomad stopped dead as she followed Covergirl and Lady Jaye into the bar and subsequently got yelled at. She was then thoroughly covered in silly string and streamers.

"What the -"

Covergirl and Lady Jaye grinned. "Well, we _had _to arrange something. It's not often we get a new Joe out of the blue like this."

Nomad glared at Lady Jaye. "Some of the others, my ass," she muttered, tugging uncomfortably at the neckline of the red camisole Covergirl had practically jammed over her head. "I don't even know half these people!"

"Don't worry, you will by the time we leave," Jaye said cheerfully. "That's kinda the whole point; to get to know your buddies! Hey, first drink's on me."

"Hold on a moment, Lady Jaye."

The women turned to see General Hawk standing behind them. Again, he was in his dress uniform.

"Hawk," Jaye said, sounding surprised. "I thought you had to go to Washington?"

"I do," he agreed. "But I heard there was a party for a new recruit, and I thought I'd crash it for a moment." His gaze turned to Nomad. "I hear that after throwing mud in the top sergeant's face this morning, you beat up a sailor and almost told a ninja to put something in an unpleasant place."

Nomad felt her face turn red and was thankful that the bar was dimly lit. "Sir, I can explain all that -"

He shook his head. "No need. I'm just here to welcome you to G.I Joe."

"Thank you, sir." She saluted.

Hawk glanced at Jaye and Covergirl and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Don't get too carried away."

"We won't, Hawk," Jaye said, hooking her arm through Nomad's and leading her to the bar.

Covergirl smiled and took Nomad's other arm. "See, _now_ it's official! Let's party!"


	6. Chapter Five

Okay, just a few things to start off. One: Thanks, Karama9, for your advice and suggestions. You're always helpful and I think my writing's better for it :D

Two: Totonicapan is a real department (or state, I guess you could call it) of Guatemala. Apart from that…well, I took liberties.

Three: I might not be updating every week anymore. Posting's caught up to writing, and I haven't written much lately coz I've had a sudden case of life! I'll try, though, because I got me a nice, shiny new laptop. It has fingerprints and cat hair all over it already…

Four: Enjoy this chapter! Feel free to review :D

* * *

Matches hit the ground with a thud. Dynamite saw blood darkening the front of his shirt - not the chest. Lower down. A gut shot.

Goldilocks shrugged. "No one else to shoot, Dynamite."

"You goddamn fucking son of a fucking bitch!"

"Language," he scolded. "And don't talk about my mother like that. Give me the intel."

"Go to hell." Dynamite's assault rifle was still under the camouflage net. It was only metres away -

Goldilocks gestured sharply with the gun. "Don't move."

Dynamite froze.

The General studied her for a moment. Then, he lowered the .45 and - unnervingly smoothly - the cold look on his face became a warm smile. He laughed quietly. "Come on. Tell me what you know and I'll just smack you around a little bit. Make it look convincing. Black eye, broken arm…I'll leave the teeth alone, promise. You can tell the honchos back home that I forced it out of you." He took a few steps forward. "You want to go home, don't you?" His voice was soothing. "Ten months all on your own…that's a long time, especially in a hole like this. Hey, I'll even drive you back to the base myself. It's only a few hours. Beats walking. Course, I won't be staying, but I can drop you off along the way."

Dynamite's eyes flicked past him to Matches. His eyes were closed and his body was limp, but his chest was still rising and falling.

"Well?"

Dynamite looked back to Goldilocks, afraid he'd hear the pounding of her heart. She'd never been as frightened of anything as she was of him right now. "I…y-yeah. You're right. I…I want to go home."

"That's my good girl. See, it's not so hard. Just a few little words. You can whisper, if it makes you feel better."

Dynamite took a deep, shaky breath. "Yes, sir. The caches. They're…" He leaned closer as she lowered her voice.

Her hand snapped around, the ka-bar knife from the sheath buckled to her thigh flashing in a spot of sunlight. She went for his throat, but he reared back, and instead a thin slash appeared in his shirt. A small amount of blood leaked through - not as much as she'd wanted.

With a roar, Goldilocks grabbed Dynamite's right hand, twisted it and shoved it hard up between her shoulder blades, ripping the large knife away. She stomped on his foot and jerked her left elbow back into his gut, but then felt cold metal at her throat.

"You just had to make it hard for yourself, didn't you?" Goldilocks yanked her right arm further up. She felt the shoulder joint straining. "All I want is to know where the weapons caches are."

"You killed my team. I'm not telling you anything, you fucking bitch."

Without so much as a warning, he drew the blade of the ka-bar along her forearm, from wrist to elbow. Dynamite gritted her teeth, but couldn't stop the high-pitched whine coming from her throat. She felt the gash open and close slightly as her muscles tensed.

"The intel. I want it. How many caches are there? Where are they? Tell me!"

Dynamite's eyes darted across the bodies of Skipper, Spider, and Hotshot. "No."

The General spun her around, and then everything inside her went white-hot as the knife slid into her gut. Dynamite screamed. Her knees gave way.

"No, you don't." Goldilocks caught her and lowered her to the ground. "Do I have to ask again?"

Nomad tried to curl into a ball. "Go…nngh…fuck yourself."

The knife twisted.

* * *

"Hey. Wake up."

Nomad's eyes shot open, and she launched herself at the shadowy figure leaning over her. They hit the floor hard, Nomad on top.

"Let me guess," said the quiet voice. "Bad dream?"

The voice was familiar. It was somebody she liked; she released her grip on the shirt. Hands rolled her aside onto the floor.

Goldilocks didn't have curly hair. The man climbing to his feet did. Red goggles perched on top of his head.

Lowlight looked down at her as she sat on the floor, peering back up at him stupidly. She was in the rec room. The lights were off and the TV was on with the volume turned right down. She'd fallen asleep on the saggy, yet remarkably comfy, couch again. Third time in the two weeks she'd been at the Pit.

"Ah. Sorry, Lowlight," she muttered, standing and rubbing her hands over her face. "Dammit, you should know better than to put your hands on a sleeping soldier."

The sniper shrugged it off. "That's not an answer," he pointed out.

Nomad hesitated. Then she clapped him on the shoulder, putting on a grin she hoped didn't look too forced. "Nah, no bad dreams. Seeing your ugly mug leaning over me scared the crap outta me, that's all."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep."

"I don't believe you."

She snickered. "You should, Coop, you _are_ pretty damn ugly."

He frowned when she used his real name. "You know you talk in your sleep? Who's Goldilocks?"

She talked in her sleep? That was news. She hesitated only slightly. "You remember the story, don't you? She has a thing for porridge, but only if it's not too hot and not too cold. Has to be just right." She made a face. "Poor little Baby Bear really got screwed over."

Lowlight settled himself into an armchair, put his feet on the coffee table and gave her an implacable stare, refusing to be put off. "I'm not stupid. I know a bad dream when I see one."

She sighed and met his eyes. "It's none of your business."

"It's my business if an accident happens on the range because you're sleep deprived."

"There'll be no accidents. I mean it, Lowlight: drop it. Seriously."

He raised his hands, palms toward her. "Alright. It's dropped. But if you fuck up and somebody gets hurt…"

"Won't happen." She made for the door.

Lowlight caught hold of her wrist as she passed the armchair. "Make sure it doesn't. Some of us are starting to like you just a little bit and don't want you kicked out."

"I'm a big girl. I can look after myself."

He pointed to the long scar running up her arm. "Goldilocks the one who gave you that?"

He was the first to ask about the scar - there'd been a lot of curious glances but no questions, not even from Covergirl. Nomad narrowed her eyes at the sniper.

"Alright." He let her go. "I want you on the range at dusk tonight. We'll be doing some night vision work. I want you sharp."

"Yes, Mother Cooper."

"And don't call me that, or I'll have Beach give you double PT every day for a month."

She grinned and left the rec room, only to wander aimlessly around the corridors for a while. She encountered only a few people - some greenshirts making their way to their bunks after the night shift at the gates, and Blowtorch padding unashamedly along the hall in only his shorts. The young Joe raised a hand to wave, but yawned and used the hand to cover his mouth instead. She nodded to him while surreptitiously enjoying the scenery. She didn't know him very well, just that he was a firefighter...and not a bad looking one at that.

She grinned somewhat wickedly to herself. She may be damaged, but she was no nun.

Nomad checked her watch; it was just after 3.30. The last time she'd looked it had been midnight, and Ridley had been taking out the Brood Mother for the first time. Nomad hadn't seen the end of the movie, but knew Ridley survived - the sequel had been programmed next, and both Ridley and a second, even bigger, meaner Brood Mother had featured heavily in the ads.

Ah, horror movies. They were one of her vices. Psyche Out would probably make something out of that, if she told him. She made a mental note never to mention it.

Nomad looked up to find that her feet had led her to the mess hall. The big room was empty. Not even the kitchen staff got up quite this early. She headed straight for her friend the coffee machine. Once the caffeinated goodness had brewed, she took her mug and the carafe and sat at the table in the very middle of the mess hall. As always, she burned her tongue on the first sip.

Two weeks. Had it really been two whole weeks since she'd first seen the Pit? It didn't seem like that long, but that's what they said: time flies when you're having fun. And there was no doubt about it - Nomad was definitely having fun.

She'd had no idea how much she really missed being part of such a tight-knit unit. The real eye-opener had been the party, which was apparently tradition whenever a new Joe was signed on, though it rarely happened on the same day they made it in - it had to wait until there was a quiet night on base. The night out was surprisingly fun, once Nomad got a beer or two in her and loosened up a little. She didn't usually drink - it caused her to drop her guard - but she'd made an exception. Just for one night.

That first week, she'd tried so hard to fit in. She'd held her tongue, kept her temper - except for that incident with Short Fuse who, it turned out, was just as hot-headed as she was - and had in general been overly polite. After a few painful days of that, Flint had quietly taken her aside and told her to relax.

The second week was easier as she got into the rhythm of 'Pit life'.

Probably the most difficult thing to adjust to was PT. Nomad had kept in shape, but there was nothing quite like running an obstacle course. Sergeant Major Beachhead liked to make his obstacle courses as dangerous as possible without actually intending to cause bodily harm; he was a fan of oiled ropes, razor wire and hidden tripwires. And mud, naturally. One day, Nomad had made the foolish mistake of not checking to see where Beachhead was before complaining about the overabundance of mud at Joe HQ. It was only when the other Joes edged away and she felt a large, looming presence that she realised he was behind her. By the end of PT that day Nomad was _sure_ that the only thing keeping her moving forward was the Alabama man's lungpower as he shadowed her. Beachhead was _loud_.

And then there was the hand-to-hand. After the very first experimental session, Scarlett had decided that Nomad was, as she'd said, more of a 'brawler' and put her in the same class as Gung Ho, Shipwreck, Mutt - who she swore took fighting lessons from his dog, Junkyard - and a few others with 'less discipline'. Snake Eyes - who wasn't as scary as he looked and had a wry sense of humour when the mood took him - usually taught their class. He had slightly more patience with them than Storm Shadow or Scarlett and was less inclined to slap them upside the head if they did something stupid. After the session, either he or Scarlett would take the time to teach her some new sign language. Nomad had printed out a page with all the separate letters on it and stuck it on the wall over her bed; she knew all those already and was now working on memorising all the Joes' names. At the moment it was still quicker to have somebody translate, although Snakes was pretty good at getting his point across when she couldn't figure out what his hands were saying.

She still didn't know why the ninja couldn't talk, or why he wore the mask all the time. She was curious, but didn't want to ask; every time she thought about it, she felt like a hypocrite. She hadn't told anyone about herself, after all.

Despite that, she'd even managed to make a few friends in the last couple of weeks. Naturally, she was closest to Covergirl, Lady Jaye and Scarlett. Those three were - they admitted it freely - thrilled to have another female Joe on board; women were pitifully outnumbered by men in G.I Joe, even in the greenshirt ranks.

She also liked desert-trooper and refrigerator repairer extraordinaire Dusty. Nothing could piss Dusty off. No matter what time it was, or what he was doing, the guy was happy. His easy smile was infectious. It made Nomad happy just to sit beside him. He was away in some desert-y place for the next few weeks, testing some new equipment.

There were a few other guys she got along well with, too; soft-spoken Lowlight was one of them. She considered Deep Six another one - she hadn't managed con more than a few short words out of the deep sea diver, but every now and then he suffered her sitting next to him in the mess hall, as long as she was quiet. That was about the only time she saw him: in the mess hall and sometimes in the training room. The older Joe always seemed to know whenever she was about to say something to him, and every time he shot her a look that made her close her mouth. She hadn't seen him for a few days - Deep Six, Shipwreck, Torpedo and some of the other guys who liked water and boats and things had been transferred to the USS Flagg - the Joe's aircraft carrier - for some mission or other.

On the other hand, there were some Joes she just didn't mesh with. Short Fuse and her clashed; he was just as hot-headed as she was, and if they were scheduled for training together, arguments ensued. The last time had been PT. Beachhead had simply paired them off, told them to 'suck it up, princesses', and kept them running his newest obstacle course - which conveniently required teamwork to get through - until they cooperated. They learned to tolerate each other, but nothing more.

Storm Shadow irritated her continually by sneaking up on her. He seemed to enjoy taunting her. The other day he'd scared her in the training room and she'd snapped, hurling the five kilo barbell weight and profanities at him. The weight missed him and she was stuck on KP that night, but she earned herself some street cred, at least.

Finally, there was Clutch the grease monkey. He was blunt, sarcastic and self-confident, just short of being arrogant. He usually smelled of fuel or engine oil. He spent most of his time hanging out above the Pit in the garage or in the heavy equipment level with Steeler, the sandy-haired tank jockey, and Rock & Roll, the blonde haired and bearded surfer dude from Malibu. Clutch's real name was Lance Steinberg.

She smiled to herself. She hadn't told him hers yet.

"Thought I might find you here."

She gave a start, spilled her coffee - she was onto the fourth cup already - and then slumped in her seat, shaking her head in exasperation. "Lifeline, you and the rest have _got_ to stop doing that! It can't be good for my heart. You should _know_ that, you're a goddamn _medic_."

"Well, at least you don't turn around and hit people anymore." He sat across from her and eyed the carafe. "Oh, no. You drank nearly the whole thing?"

"So what if I did? Hey, don't you have a hospital to be in charge of?"

"I'm making a house call. The interns are holding the fort."

"This is the mess hall, not a house."

He shrugged. "Technicality."

Nomad sighed. "Alright, let's get it over with. What should I not be doing?"

"Drinking a whole jug of coffee at…what time is it…4.20 in the morning is what you should not be doing. What you _should_ be doing is snoring."

"I don't snore! Apparently I talk in my sleep, but I don't snore." Nomad glanced at her watch. She'd been here almost an hour? Already? "Well, it's too late now. I woke up and I needed something to do."

"You could have gone to the training room. Lowlight would have been up, he could've spotted you or something."

She nodded. "Yeah, I saw him in the rec room. He…wait, how'd you know he was up?"

Lifeline held up his hands. "Can't tell you that."

"Patient confidentiality? Does he have trouble sleeping too? He mentioned something about bad dreams, does he have -"

"Nomad."

"Yeah?"

"You've had too much coffee. I'm officially ordering you to cut down."

"What? You can't order me around -" The smug grin on his face silenced her. "Okay, okay, I know. What the medic says, goes, or it's medical leave." She shuddered.

"Go work it off. Beach scheduled an extra PT for 0430."

"But Lifeline -" she whined.

He raised a finger and smiled. "Ah. Medical leave…" he warned lightly.

"Oh, alright." She went to finish the last of her coffee, but Lifeline snatched the mug from her hand and pointed to the door. "Out."

"Damn medic. You're no fun."

* * *

Lifeline's plan worked. Beachhead ran her into the ground…or rather, the mud. By the time the Sergeant Major was done with her and the five other greenshirts who'd apparently done something to piss him off, she'd managed to run a total of seventy laps of the perimeter, done one hundred and fifty push ups - half of them with Beach's extraordinarily large combat boot planted on her back - and run the obstacle course three times. Once was with Beachhead snarling at her back; he'd caught her muttering under her breath about killing Lifeline.

Her coffee high had long since flatlined; as she staggered back into the Pit she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

Nomad dragged herself to the showers, turned the cold water on full blast, stripped and stepped under, gasping as the freezing water hit her. It worked though - she was wide awake in a second.

Take that, Lifeline, who needs coffee?

She turned the 'hot' tap on, stood under the water a few more minutes, and blasted it cold again just before hopping out. Unfortunately, in her haste to get to the showers, she'd forgotten to stop by her room to grab clean clothes.

Oh well. It was only a quick run from the showers to the room; the Covergirl and Lady Jaye did it all the time, Scarlett not so much. She wrapped a towel around herself tightly and opened the door. As long as she didn't run into any -

"Hey, Nomad, lookin' good!"

Damn it.

* * *

"…and there she was, in her skivvies!"

Nomad - now dressed in clean fatigues and a white tank top - tried to glare indignantly at Sci-Fi, but she was pretty certain the effect was neutralised by her burning face. "I had a towel!" she protested.

"Naked, towel…" Sci-Fi shrugged. "Preeetty much the same thing. You could have at least dropped it in shock, or something, you know."

She snorted derisively. "No. If you'd seen me without the towel, you'd have scooped your eyes out with that spoon by now." She gestured to the utensil that was halfway to his mouth.

He shook his head. "I doubt it. Sure, you're no Covergirl, but -"

"_Hey_!"

"Joking! You're hot, you're hot! Don't hurt me!"

"Ah, you're not worth the effort," she said, grinning and waving a hand lazily.

A look of feigned hurt crossed the laser gunner's face. "I'm worth plenty effort."

"No, you're not. Tell him, Trip."

The man beside her shook his head. "I'm staying out of this one," he said, grinning. He gathered up his dirty dishes and stood.

Nomad looked up. "No, no! Tripwire, I'll take -"

"Oops!"

She managed to grab the crockery out of his hands as Tripwire somehow caught his foot on the leg of her chair and went sprawling. Sci-Fi applauded and gave him an eight out of ten.

Nomad shook her head. "Skoog, you're hopeless." She wasn't trying to be irritating like she had with Lowlight; she just liked saying Tripwire's last name, and he didn't seem to mind. "How the hell did you ever become a bomb technician?"

Sci-Fi shook his head. "You haven't seen Trip in action," he said seriously. "Wait til you see him defuse a bomb. It's so freaky, he goes dead-calm. Course, once the damn thing's actually defused, it's back to clumsy ol' Tripwire."

Nomad chuckled. "Skoog? Calm? I'd like to see that." She pushed Tripwire's hands away when he reached for the dishes again. "I'll get them."

"Thanks," Tripwire replied bashfully, rubbing his chin.

Sci-Fi grinned. "Musta been all that talk about you being nekkid, Nomad. Got Tripwire all wound up, and -"

"Sci-Fi, I swear to God if you don't shut your mouth right now, I'll -"

She didn't get to finish the threat. She lifted her eyes to the roof as Breaker's voice came over the PA. "_All available Joes to the briefing room immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat, all available Joes to the briefing room immediately. As in right now!_" There was the sound of a gum bubble popping. "_East fast, guys and gals, this looks like a live one._"

For one long, eerie moment, the mess hall was completely silent. Nomad swore she could hear the bacon spitting in the pans in food prep all the way across the room; hell, it was so quiet she would've heard Storm Shadow creeping around.

Everyone glanced around at everyone else. Then, at once, they all burst into action. Sci-Fi dropped his spoon, lifted his bowl and literally drank the rest of his cereal. Nomad tipped the last of her orange juice down her throat like a shot. Tripwire snatched the remaining bit of toast from her plate, knocking over the empty glass as he did. The three of them joined the throng rushing out the door. She lost sight of Sci-Fi, but Tripwire stayed with her. "This means there's a mission, right?" she asked.

"You don't have to sound so hopeful," Tripwire muttered. His good mood had vanished; his smile had been replaced by a look of grim determination.

"I'm not!" Nomad thought about it. "Well, actually, I am. This could be my first mission as a Joe!"

Tripwire glanced sideways at her. "Better wipe that grin off your face before you walk in," he warned.

Nodding, Nomad composed herself, but it was difficult. The adrenaline was already pumping: this might be her chance to show that all her training wasn't for nothing. And if Hawk was back from Washington, she could prove he hadn't wasted his time on her, after all.

The room itself looked like a small lecture hall, with a screen on the wall at the front, a desk and rows of tiered seating. Nomad had only been in here once, on her grand tour of the Pit.

The first thing she noticed as she followed Tripwire into the briefing room was the General himself. She hadn't seen him since the party. Hawk was leaning on the desk and talking quietly to Stalker and Flint. He was wearing BDUs and a well-worn brown jacket with fleece lining the collar. Over the top of this was a shoulder holster - and there was a .45 sticking out of it.

In his dress uniform, Hawk emanated authority. In BDUs the man was just plain intimidating. Had she seen him like this when she'd first met him, she'd have thought twice about threatening him with a black eye simply for fear he might shoot her on the spot. He certainly never would have had to warn her about lack of respect.

Nomad sat next to Tripwire in the third row. The empty seat to her other side was quickly taken by Covergirl, who clambered over from the row in front and elegantly bumped Rock & Roll aside. The door closed behind the last couple of Joes, Quick Kick and Bazooka. Nomad twisted in her seat and looked around; there was a grand total of twenty Joes in the room, counting herself and the General.

"Alright, quiet down," Hawk said. "We need to move fast, so I'm gonna make this short. Five minutes ago Breaker received a message from Alpine and Outback. They've been based in Guatemala for the last month."

"Guatemala?" Nomad screwed up her nose and leaned close to Covergirl. "Who're Alpine and Outback?"

Covergirl shushed her. Hawk was still talking. "Two days ago, they stumbled across a heavily armed base in Guatemala's east, in the Totonicapan department. Further surveillance revealed it to be an active Cobra site. They had to trek all the way back to Guatemala City to make contact with us."

The General pointed a remote at the screen, and a map appeared. "This is Guatemala." He pointed again, and the map changed to a zoomed in satellite photo. "This is the department of Totonicapan. As you can see, it's mountainous country. This here -" he pointed to a grey square on the map, "- is the base."

The next shot was a grainy photo of a large structure built into the side of a mountain. There were several gun turrets mounted on the roof. The fencing was probably electrified, or razor-wire, or both. "This is a photo Alpine took. As you can see, it's going to be difficult to get to without being seen." He turned back to face the room and leaned against the desk. "There'll be three teams. The first will infiltrate the base and find out what those snakes are up to. Obviously, we can't just walk in the front door. That's where the secondary team comes in. They're going to create a diversion while the first team rappels the cliff and sneaks in. A third unit will be stationed further down the mountain in case Cobra tries to flank the secondary unit. Breaker's notified the Flagg and she's already making her way around the coast with support, supplies and a medical backup."

He paused. "From what we know, the Guatemalan government has no idea that Cobra has a base in their country. We want to keep it that way."

Scarlett raised her hand. "By that, you mean the Guatemalan government has no idea _we're_ going in?"

"Exactly. As far as they're concerned, we're just flying over. This is going to be a dangerous mission: the direct assault on the base is risky, the terrain is difficult and we're short on numbers. Are there any volunteers?"

Nomad glanced around quickly before raising her hand. All the other Joes had their hands raised, too.

Hawk looked pleased. "Alright. Scarlett, Snake Eyes, Mainframe and I will make up the infiltration unit." He scanned the room. "Flint, Covergirl, Sci-Fi, Spirit and Quick Kick, you're the third unit. The rest of you form the assault team. Alright. Gear up. We leave for McGuire Airfield in ten minutes."

* * *

With her assault rifle slung over her shoulder, as many loaded clips in her pockets as she could fit, two knives - one a small pocketknife tucked into her belt, the other a ka-bar in a thigh sheath - a canteen of water and few snack bars, Nomad followed the others into the heavy equipment level.

"Assault unit, over here!" Stalker called. The Ranger stood beside a personnel carrier. "That's you, Nomad. Move it."

Covergirl clapped her on the shoulder, grinned, and headed for the two VAMP jeeps the backup unit were meeting at. The infiltration unit were already set to go in their own jeep.

Nomad jogged over to the APC, nodded to Stalker and climbed into the back of the big truck. She was the last to get in; Tripwire, Bazooka, Rock & Roll, Lowlight, Lifeline, Roadblock, Beachhead and Storm Shadow were already seated. On the bench seat behind the cab, Lowlight scooted aside to make space for her.

Clutch, of course, sat in the driver's seat. He turned and smirked at her. "Ready for your first mission?"

"As I'll ever be." As Tripwire had suggested, she tried not to sound too eager. "We're getting airlifted from McGuire AFB?"

"That's the plan. We'll rendezvous with the Flagg halfway, refuel and then get dropped off in the mountains."

Stalker jumped into the passenger seat and Clutch reversed onto the hydraulic lift, giving Nomad a wink as he looked over his shoulder to see where he was going.

The lift didn't take long to rise to the garage. Nomad made herself comfortable between Lowlight and the side of the truck, then glanced up as she heard the ringing of steel. Storm Shadow was sorting through his weapons, systematically lying them out on the floor of the truck.

"That's a sword," she pointed out dumbly, staring at the gleaming blade Storm was inspecting critically.

"Yes it is, Nomad. Well done."

"But I thought you and Snakes were just called ninjas because you're freakishly good at kung fu stuff!"

Storm gave her an even look.

"You two are seriously ninjas? For real?"

He nodded.

"Well, fuck me."

Clutch gave a snort. "Hey, if that's an -"

There was a _thwack_ as Lowlight's hand reached over and hit Clutch across the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, Clutch. Hand slipped."

"Sure it did."

Storm Shadow's eyes crinkled at the corners and he went back to sorting. Nomad watched curiously. Some of the kinds of weapons he had she'd never even seen before. She reached out and picked up one she _did_ know, a throwing star. The edges were very, very sharp. She sliced a fingertip and didn't realise she'd done it until she saw the blood trickling down the side of her hand. Lifeline rolled his eyes and passed her a Band-Aid.

Storm Shadow plucked the star from her fingers. "Don't touch," he said.

"Sorry." She wiped the blood on her pants, then pointed to one of the nastier-looking objects. "What's that?"

"Would you like to find out?"

"Uh…no." She sat back quickly. "I'll shut up."

The Joes rode in silence for the rest of the short trip to the airfield where the planes and larger choppers were kept. Nomad glanced out the windscreen to watch as Clutch drove up the loading ramp of a huge C-130 airplane. Turning in the opposite direction to peer through the gap in the tarpaulin covering the truck, she saw the three VAMPS pull in behind.

Stalker keyed the radio. "APC in position, Slipstream. Just gotta clamp her in place."

"_Gotcha, Stalker._"

Clutch and Rock & Roll jumped out to secure the personnel carrier. When they were done, they hopped back in. "Well, get comfy, lady and germs," Clutch said, putting his feet on the dashboard. "We got us a few hours of nothing to do."

"Scratch that, Clutch," Stalker said. "If we're gonna make a direct assault on this base, we gotta talk tactics."

* * *

Nomad glanced over her copy of the map printout Stalker had handed around. He and Clutch had climbed in back and sat amongst the rest of the Joes; they'd all been huddled together discussing assault tactics for most of the time they'd been in flight.

The plan was to wait until Hawk radioed to tell them that the infiltration team was inside the base. Once they heard from him, the assault would begin. Tripwire and Storm Shadow would blow the explosives they'd already placed in any enemy vehicles they came across. Lowlight was to find a strategic place to snipe from. Bazooka - a stocky man of few words who carried the same weapon he was named after - would take out the gun turrets on the roof of the Cobra base. Once the turrets were gone, the rest of the Joes could mount a direct offensive.

"Nomad."

"Sir." She folded her map and stuffed it in her pocket, looking up at Stalker.

"I want you to stay with Lifeline."

Nomad hesitated. Having to protect a non-combatant hadn't been in her plan. The last time she'd tried to keep someone alive…

"Uh…Stalker, I don't think that's such a good idea."

Stalker turned back to her, his eyes narrowed "There a problem?"

"It might be better if Lifeline was with somebody else. Beach, maybe?"

The Ranger raised an eyebrow. "And why might that be?"

She should have shut her mouth when she heard his tone of voice, but she didn't. "It's just that…I don't think I can -"

"You don't want the responsibility? Keeping our medic alive too much for you?"

Lifeline raised a hand and opened his mouth. Roadblock, sitting beside him, put a hand on the medic's arm and shook his head.

Nomad took a deep breath. "That's not what I meant. I just meant…we're gonna need all the guns we have, and -" She didn't know how to finish.

"And you don't wanna be stuck babysittin' the medic."

"Hey, I'm sitting right here, Stalker," Lifeline said reproachfully.

Stalker ignored him, glaring at Nomad. She glared right back, her temper starting to bubble over. "That's not what I meant," she repeated deliberately. "I'm just saying adequate cover'll be near to impossible to -"

"We're G.I Joe. We do the impossible and make it look easy," Stalker interrupted. "If you think you're too good for this team, let me know. You can stay on the Flagg while the rest of us do our job."

She stood up. "Don't talk to me about _teams_ or _impossible_, Stalker. You have no idea what I've -"

Slipstream's voice crackled over the radio. "_You fellas might wanna buckle up back there. Flagg's in sight. Touchdown in one minute._"

Stalker didn't move, and Nomad sure as hell wasn't going to back down.

"Sit _down_." Lowlight suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the seat beside him. With a final warning glance at her, Stalker climbed over into the cab and took his seat. Clutch followed.

The tension in the truck was palpable. The only people looking at Nomad were Lowlight and Storm; the sniper looked angry, the ninja's expression was unreadable.

"What the hell was that?" Lowlight muttered, frowning at her.

"Nothing, I just -"

"Nothing? You're telling me you just snapped at _Stalker_, of all people, because you felt like it?"

"I'm just sick of being in the air, that's all," she said. It sounded lame even to her.

"Well you'd better get over it, because we're only parking on the Flagg until the plane's refuelled, then we're taking off again. This is a real mission, Nomad: grow up. Whatever your problem is, deal with it."

Slipstream landed the C-130 on the deck of the aircraft carrier. Clutch got out and held aside the camouflage covering while the Joes disembarked. "Alright, everyone out before somebody blows a fuse." The jibe was clearly aimed at Nomad.

"Screw you, Clutch." She slapped his hand away when he held it out to help her down.

He held up his hands and backed away, making a noise that sounded like, 'Yeesh'.

"You."

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath as Stalker grabbed the back of her shirt. "What?" she asked, figuring it was too late to start being polite.

"You're comin' with me."

"You gonna throw me overboard?"

"No," he replied, his voice showing only a hint of anger, "but Hawk just might."

Stalker frogmarched her down the loading ramp and directly over to Hawk. The General was standing on the deck, watching Deep Six and Torpedo on the level below as they inspected a submarine-ish looking vehicle with S.H.A.R.C written on the side.

Hawk took one look at Nomad and sighed heavily. "What is it?"

Stalker let go of her shirt. "Nomad here seems to be having a problem accepting orders."

"I only said -"

"Quiet," Hawk said firmly, shooting her a look. She snapped her mouth shut, pressing her lips together tightly. "What were the orders?"

"I told her she was to stay with Lifeline. Apparently she's too good to be stuck with a medic."

"I never said that! Hawk, all I said was maybe Lifeline should stay with somebody else, and then Stalker decided to start talking about teams and…stuff."

Hawk fixed his piercing blue stare on her. "You told me you'd deal with your issues."

Her voice was flat. "I have it under control, sir."

"Apparently not."

Stalker was looking from her to Hawk, his expression softening, but only slightly. "I get the feelin' I'm missin' some of the facts, here."

Hawk glanced sideways at the Ranger, then looked back to Nomad. She eventually caught his drift and shook her head vehemently. "No."

"This isn't a choice," Hawk stated. "It's this, or you stay here on the Flagg and you pack your bags as soon as we get back to the Pit. You don't have to go into details, just the short version."

Stalker frowned. "Hawk, what are you -"

"Alright," Nomad said over the top of him. She looked at her feet. "Stalker, I retired from field duty and took a desk job because…" She trailed off and peered up at Hawk again. "This stays between us, right?"

His expression remained stern, but he agreed. "Between us three."

Nomad leaned on the rail and looked down at the two Joes and the S.H.A.R.C. Deep Six glanced up, spotted her, and then went back to work. She steeled herself. "I was on a mission in the Amazon. I'd been there ten months. Long story. Short version is my team came to get me and all of them were killed by - well, it doesn't matter who by. Point is, I couldn't…" She shook her head and turned to Stalker. "I only thought Lifeline'd be better off with someone else because I…don't have a good track record of keeping people alive."

It was more than she'd ever told anyone, apart from the shrink at the hospital. She shifted uneasily. Hawk nodded at her. It made her feel a little better.

Stalker looked at her for a long time, then gestured to her right arm. "That where the scar came from?"

She nodded.

"You're the only one who -"

"Yes."

Stalker crossed his arms. "Alright. I can see where you're comin' from. If I'd known, I wouldn't've said what I did. But we're G.I Joe. We _need_ to work as a team, and when I give an order, I expect it to be followed."

"It won't happen again, Stalker."

"Be sure it don't. And I still need somebody to stay with the medic."

"Yes, sir." She hesitated slightly before opening her mouth again. "But what if -"

Hawk put a hand on her shoulder. "We all know the risks we take, Nomad. I can personally promise you that if he dies, Lifeline won't blame you."

She gave a slight smile.

"Well…I guess that's settled, then." Stalker moved off, then turned and pointed at her. "Don't think I'm lettin' you off, either. You got a week of extra PT when we get back, and if you question orders again I'll knock you flat. Understand?"

"I got it, Stalker."

Hawk stopped her before she could follow. "Not the best way to start your first mission," he pointed out quietly.

She lowered her eyes.

"Obviously you've still got some things to work out. I want you to make an appointment to see Psyche Out when we get back to the Pit."

"Isn't he the shrink? Hawk, I don't need…" She faltered as he put his hands on his hips. "Okay! I'll make an appointment."

"Good." The General gestured to the door Stalker had disappeared through. "Mess's through there. If Shipwreck's not cooking, grab something to eat; we take off soon."

"And if Shipwreck _is_ cooking?"

"Gather as much as you can, we'll offer it to Cobra and poison them all."

* * *

When Dynamite came to, she couldn't see a thing. Night had fallen. In the Amazon, night meant black; so black you may as well have your eyes closed.

She waited for her eyes to adjust, staring straight up. After a few minutes, she dropped her head to the left. She tried not to look directly at anything; in the dark, it's easier to see things if you look at them from the corner of your eye. Something about the arrangement of cells in your eyes…who'd told her that? Hotshot? He was good at night-vision stuff…

She saw bodies, sprawled not far away. Skipper. Spider. Hotshot.

Dynamite rolled to her knees, only to buckle and curl into a ball with a shriek that silenced all the other normal jungle noises for a few moments. She clutched at her belly; some kind of crust over her skin had cracked open and was oozing something warm. She smelled coppery blood.

"Dyna…mite?" The voice was weak, coming from somewhere to the left.

"M - Matches?"

There was a soft rustling, and out of the gloom he appeared, his face impossibly white. His eyes were shadowed, his lips completely colourless. She gave a cry of alarm at the sight of him; he looked like a corpse; dragging himself inch by inch across the ground with one arm, the other held tightly to his belly. He leaned over her and brushed the sweat-slicked hair from her face. "Hey…here now…"

"You…" Dynamite bit back the whimper that forced its way out of her tight throat. "Shot."

He shook his head once. "Just…grazed." He lifted her shirt gingerly. The crust of blood had stuck it to her skin; she sobbed as it pulled away.

"Goldilocks?" She asked.

"Took tank…wrecked Jeeps. Thought…we were dead…"

Goldilocks killed her team and left her to die. Even through the searing pain, her temper managed to get the better of her. Dynamite gently pushed Matches' hand away, gritted her teeth and lurched to her feet.

"Shouldn't move."

He was right, as always. The ground tilted beneath her. She took several deep breaths; the dark world steadied a little. "Matches…we're _not_ dying here," she said. Every tiny movement sent pain spiking through her. "We're going home."

Matches flopped onto his back. "I'm not…going anywhere." He moved the hand pressed to his gut, revealing the massive hole in his belly. It was really a miracle he was still alive.

Dynamite squeezed her eyes shut, wishing it all away. It didn't work.

Alright. Fine. She could do this. She had to do this. She wasn't going to die in a stinking jungle, and neither was her best friend. "We're going home," she repeated.

She staggered to the closest Jeep and yanked the door open, took the flashlight from the side pocket and reached under the seat for the field kit. She slumped to the ground with it. It took a few tries for her to open the kit - on the fourth try, she glared at her hands to see why they weren't working properly.

Some of her fingers were bent in odd directions. Her fingertips were torn and bloody. She had no fingernails. She frowned; she couldn't remember where they'd gone. Had Goldilocks done that, too? Her right arm was covered in dried blood. That's right…he'd cut her arm. But when had he done her fingers? She couldn't remember. It was all blurry.

She held the flashlight in her mouth and focused hard on the clips holding the kit closed, eventually popping them open with the fingers that weren't broken. She emptied the contents on the ground in front of her and grabbed the bandages. "Matches…gonna patch you up."

"Nnn. You first."

"You're -"

"You. First."

She didn't argue. Dynamite slowly stripped her shirt off and inspected herself. That sense of detachment was growing; she wasn't feeling as much pain as she thought she should be. She dimly realised that that was not a good thing. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her broken left index finger between her knees. The sudden pain flaring all up her arm brought her back.

There were three deep stab wounds in her lower belly, and several long, deep lacerations. She couldn't tell if anything important had been sliced; Spider was the medic, not her, and he was dead because of that bastard Goldilocks. She wound a bandage as tightly as she could around her waist, then another around her slashed right arm. She didn't know what to do with her hands. She slowly put all the other supplies - as much as she could fit - into the pockets of her fatigues.

She checked the other two jeeps. Goldilocks had gone to town on them - tyres slashed, engines shot to bits, radios torn apart. Dynamite knew enough about cars to realise that there was no getting these ones working again.

She returned to Matches and painstakingly patched him using the bandages from the other two field kits. Blood drenched the ground around him, and a thick line of it marked where he'd dragged himself over to her. She couldn't remember seeing so much blood coming from someone she liked. He was barely conscious. "Stay with me, Matches…"

"Nnn."

Dynamite covered the bodies of her murdered friends with the camouflage net that had been her home for ten months. She grabbed her canteen, slung her assault rifle over her shoulder and took two full clips from Hotshot's pockets. He wouldn't hold it against her.

Tears streaming down her face, Dynamite saluted the three dead men before dragging Matches onto a tarpaulin salvaged from one of the jeeps. "Gonna be bumpy," she said, wincing. She cut two slits in the edges of the heavy, waterproof canvas and carefully slipped her arms through. "Can't carry you….but we're going home. Either way…I'm gonna get you home. I promise."

* * *

"Hey, Nomad!"

"Wha -?" Nomad looked around, the half-sandwich with one bite out of it dangling from her hand. After her 'discussion' with Hawk and Stalker, she'd got two sandwiches and a Yo-Jo Cola from the galley - where Shipwreck wasn't cooking. She'd avoided the mess hall, instead wandering around on deck as she ate. She stopped briefly to say hi to Deep Six and Torpedo and check out the S.H.A.R.C - the Submersible High-Speed Attack and Reconnaissance Craft. She heard Deep Six say more about his damn flying submarine in five minutes than she'd heard him say in two weeks.

Then, her thoughts had run away with her.

Roadblock tapped his watch. "Time to go! Move that ass!"

"On my way!" She leaned over the railing and tossed the sandwich into the waves. Then she jogged over to catch up with the big man and headed up the loading ramp of the C-130.


	7. Chapter Six

Well, here it is, finally. It's been a crappy couple of weeks, had my uncle's funeral and just been wrecked in general…Anyway, I don't know how many times I rewrote this damn chapter…it seems writing battles isn't one of my stronger points. Apologies in advance :D

Ah well, I'll just have to get some more practice :D

By the way, I used a lesson I learned from the Muppets: if you can't think of a way out of something, blow stuff up!

Karama9 - Yeah, I borrowed from some of the earlier missions. There was one where a few Joes abseiled into a base to rescue somebody. I think it was Dr. Burkhart. I liked that one.

willwrite4fics - Heh heh...I do have a soft spot for Deep Six. I'll put him in anywhere I can!

* * *

Nomad had never had a problem with darkness after the Amazon. No place she'd been since ever got as pitch black as that jungle at night time. It was completely different here in the mountains - the trees, the sound, the smell, the feel of the air on her skin. When she looked up, she could see stars; she could see her hand when she waved it in front of her face.

Still, she was jumpy. She put it down to apprehension, pre-mission jitters. She didn't want to screw up. She _couldn't_ screw up, she only had one chance at this. She didn't want to get booted out of G.I Joe after only one mission. Besides, if she screwed up, Lifeline might -

A twig snapped. Close by. To the right, near the road. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her finger tightened slightly on the trigger of her assault rifle. She pushed off the tree trunk she'd been leaning against and crouched low in the shadow of it, scanning the gloomy mountain forest and road, rifle raised.

"At ease, Nomad."

She recognised Stalker's hushed voice and immediately relaxed, peering in the direction he'd spoken from. With his dark skin and cammies, he was difficult to spot at first, but then she noticed the fog his breath made when he exhaled.

"Shift's over," he said. "Get back to the APC and get warm."

"Yes, sir."

Nomad had been on guard on the road a half-mile ahead of the APC for the last hour. It had gotten dark halfway into her shift, and when the sun went down it got cold. She didn't like being cold. That wasn't just from bad memories, either; she'd _always_ hated cold weather.

She unclipped the radio from her belt and handed it to him. As she did, Stalker gave her a look she was familiar with. It wasn't _quite_ doubt or mistrust, but it said 'one wrong move and you're gone'.

"Don't worry," she said, giving him a small smile, "I'm not gonna freak out in the middle of the fire fight."

"Didn't say you would," he returned evenly.

She shook her head. "You didn't have to. Trust me, I know that look. But…just so you know, Lifeline's -" She was about to say 'safe with me', but decided that might be going a little too far. "Lifeline's in good hands." She sneakily touched the tree beside her. She wasn't superstitious, but hell, it couldn't hurt.

"I don't doubt your hands are good, Nomad. It's the _head_ that worries me." He jerked his thumb back in the direction of the APC. "Get outta here."

"Yes, sir." She paused. "Uh…thanks. For giving me another chance after -"

"Yeah, well, I haven't totally made up my mind 'bout you just yet, so don't go gettin' all emotional on me," he said bluntly. "Now I said get outta here; ain't two of us gotta freeze our asses off." He took her place by the tree - she'd stolen the spot from Roadblock after his shift was over - and got comfortable. He went so still that he very nearly vanished before her eyes.

Nomad headed back for camp, slinking along the side of the road, keeping in the shadows just behind the tree line. This was the only road that led directly to the Cobra base, though the Joes were all pretty certain that there'd be a back road somewhere. So far, this road was unguarded - she doubted their luck would last much longer.

Slipstream had had to fly a roundabout route in order to drop them off in Guatemala. The only stretch of straight road he could find that wasn't easily spotted by prying eyes - yet was still a reasonably short distance from the base - wasn't long enough to land on. It was just barely long enough for him to get close enough to the ground and still have enough runway to ascend and clear the mountains.

The loading ramp had opened as the C-130 was still descending. Clutch gunned the engine of the APC even before the plane's wheels had bumped the ground; the truck fell about half a foot before the tyres hit the dirt. It bounced so hard that Nomad's ass left the bench seat and she'd almost ended up in Storm Shadow's lap.

That had been awkward.

She made a pathetic excuse for it ("Shut up, Storm, it's been a while!") , then peered out the back of the truck to avoid the ninja's somewhat amused gaze. The backup unit in their two VAMPS were close behind. Hawk, Scarlett, Snake Eyes and Mainframe were still in the plane; they were going to parachute in a little closer to the Cobra base.

The backup peeled off ten miles south of the base. There was a nice little corner where they could set up an ambush should any Cobra troops come along. They were to form a roadblock with the jeeps, with somebody manning the guns mounted on the back. The others would find cover and stay there unless they were needed.

The assault team kept driving until they were only three miles south of the base. Clutch parked on a wider part of the road, with a steep cliff going down on the right side and thick trees rising up on the other. Stopping there meant that only two perimeter guards were needed; one further along the road toward the base and another on the forested side of the APC. The backup unit would radio if somebody got through their defence and the cliff made it impossible for anyone to sneak up on the right. They'd drawn lots for hourly shifts; Nomad had got third shift after Roadblock and Rock 'n' Roll.

She looked up. There was the personnel carrier. Beach had insisted on 'disguising' the visible side of the truck with branches and leaves. It might have worked, if so much of the truck hadn't been stuck out on the narrow road. No harm in being cautious. It had kept Beachhead busy for a while, anyway.

The sergeant major himself was prowling around the trees. He froze as Nomad approached, his head turning sharply in her direction.

"Don't shoot, it's just me," she said quietly before holding her hands wide and stepping into view.

Beach relaxed visibly and lowered his gun. "Stalker relieved you?"

Nomad was impressed; Beachhead had managed to keep his voice down to a low murmur. She hadn't thought it possible. Not that he had much choice - noise carries well in cold air, and nobody wanted to risk being any louder than they had to be. "If he hadn't, I wouldn't be here."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, Stalker relieved me," she amended quickly. She'd already met her quota for the day; one General and one CO. She didn't want a drill sergeant pissed at her, too.

"Good." He gestured to the truck. She hurried past him, hoping it was a bit warmer under the APC's cover. "An' don't move so damn quiet, ah coulda shot you."

"Sorry, Beach. I'll try to be louder next time."

He gave a low growl, waved a hand at her impatiently and went back to scanning the forest. Nomad watched him for a moment, wondering exactly what it was Covergirl saw in him - apart from the body, which the former model had pointed out numerous times and Nomad had to agree was impressive. Not that Covergirl was superficial, she was far from it. Nomad just didn't understand how the bubbly woman and the gruff drill sergeant could _work_…but apparently they did.

"Seein' somethin' you like?" Beachhead muttered, glaring.

"Don't flatter yourself."

The glare intensified and he pointed to the APC. She raised her hands defensively and picked her way carefully to the back of the truck. "I'm coming in," she hissed.

One side of the camouflaged cover twitched aside. There was a lantern in the middle of the floor. Even though it had a rag wrapped around it to diffuse the glow, she had to squint against it, and she didn't know it was Roadblock who grabbed her arm and pulled her up until her eyes got used to the light.

The heavy machine gunner, Lifeline, Rock 'n' Roll and Clutch were casually spread out on the seats. Lowlight had left just after they'd stopped, slipping away to get in prime position for sniping. Bazooka, Tripwire and Storm Shadow had also gone - Bazooka needed to sight the gun turrets on the base, and Storm and Tripwire had to be in position earlier so they could sneak in and plant the explosives. Nomad was a little worried about that part of the plan. Poor Tripwire didn't 'sneak' very well.

She sat beside Lifeline. The medic turned to her, his glasses glinting. "Cold?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

"You're shivering."

"No I'm not -"

Clutch slid onto the seat beside her - _close_ beside her - and put his arm around her. "I can help with that."

On her other side, Lifeline made a small 'hmph'. Clutch lifted the hand resting on Nomad's shoulder and flicked the medic on the ear.

"Hey!"

The mechanic looked at Lifeline innocently. "Keep it down, Lifeline! Geez!"

"Knock it off," Roadblock hissed.

Clutch rolled his eyes and gave Nomad a squeeze. "Warmer now?"

She was, but she wasn't about to encourage him. "How attached are you to that arm?"

He took the hint and let go, but didn't give her any more room. "Aw, c'mon, Nomad. This could be our last -"

She gave him a look of pity. "Really? You're gonna try that?"

Clutch rubbed his stubbled chin. Nomad had only seen him clean-shaven once, and that had been only a few days ago. He'd looked a little odd - she was used to his scruffy look. "Well, you never know…"

Rock 'n' Roll stretched a long leg out and kicked his friend's foot. "Don't jinx us, man."

Lifeline glared around at them all. "Look, this isn't going to be _anybody's_ last night."

Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll groaned. "That's it. At least one of us is gonna die now," Clutch muttered. "Thanks a lot, chump."

Nomad couldn't help herself; she chuckled quietly as Lifeline flapped his hands and shook his head in exasperation. "No, we're not," she said, nudging the medic. "We've got you, don't we?"

He gave her a grateful smile. "Nice to know _somebody_ has some confidence in me."

Roadblock leaned forward menacingly. "If you four turkeys don't shut -"

The radio crackled. Everyone instantly fell silent and gazed toward the front of the truck. "_Hawk to assault team. Infiltration team is in position above the base. Repeat, we are in position. Bring on that diversion!_"

Without warning, Beachhead yanked open the passenger door of the APC and jumped in, grabbing the radio. "Roger that, Hawk." He glanced over his shoulder. "Let's move it!"

Clutch clambered over the seat and settled behind the wheel. Rock 'n' Roll switched the lantern off and tucked it away securely, then climbed up into the gun turret. Lifeline grabbed his helmet and jammed it over his shaggy hair, then sat his medical kit on his knees.

The APC roared to life. All efforts to remain stealthy were gone; Hawk wanted a diversion, he was damn well going to get a diversion.

Roadblock flipped back the cover and stood with one foot on the tailboard and the other hanging out of the truck, searching the road ahead intently. Nomad realised they were almost at the spot where Stalker was on guard. "Clutch, Stalker's somewhere just ahead. Maybe you should slow down?"

"What for?"

Rock 'n' Roll grinned at Nomad. "Don't tell Clutch to slow down. Ever."

"But -"

Roadblock suddenly leaned down, the muscles in his arm bulging as he held onto the frame of the truck with one hand. "Gotcha!" He swung back, his other hand wrapped tightly around Stalker's wrist.

The Ranger fell into the APC. "Just like fishin', huh, Roadblock?" he asked, picking himself off the floor and readjusting his cammies.

"Fishing's a lot more relaxing."

Stalker took a seat behind Clutch. "Would it have killed you to slow down just a little?"

Nomad leaned over the seat and gave Clutch a smug look.

"Me? No. Hawk and the others, maybe," the driver retorted with a shrug. Then he pointed ahead. "Looks like Storm cleared the road for us."

The Joes craned forward to peer out the windscreen. Illuminated by the APC's headlights were two red smears leading into the trees. Nomad blinked, and then they were gone; she turned to look for them behind the truck, but it was too dark to see. "That was a little…creepy," she admitted.

"_Storm's_ a little creepy," Rock 'n' Roll called down.

"Point made."

Stalker glanced around. "We all set?" he asked, not looking at Nomad in particular.

"Yep," Rock 'n' Roll answered.

"All good," Beachhead agreed.

"Set," Clutch said grimly.

"Let's stomp some snakes," Roadblock said. As Nomad glanced at him, he hefted his .50 calibre Browning and grinned at her. "Believe it now?"

"I haven't seen you fire it yet." She picked up her rifle and clicked the safety off. She checked her pockets again, tossing a couple of crumpled snack bar wrappers onto the seat. "I'm ready, Stalker."

"Me, too," Lifeline said. He smiled at her again. She was certain it was meant to reassure her, but instead it made her feel a little sick. He trusted her. She was supposed to keep him alive. What if she couldn't?

Get rid of those thoughts. Think like that and you'll get both of you killed. Focus: this is just another job.

Nomad took a deep breath. Her heart was already beating fast. The blood was rushing in her ears. Adrenalin pumped. She switched places with Lifeline so she could jump out before him when the time came.

"Half a mile to the base," Clutch informed them. "I'm turning the headlights off. We'll blind 'em when we get closer." He glanced in the rear-view mirror at Nomad. "You sure you don't wanna tell me anythin'?"

"Like what?"

"I dunno. Maybe how you really feel about me?"

She grinned. "Don't you watch movies, Clutch? You never tell a person how you really feel about them before a mission, same as you don't take photos. You do that, you're dead."

"We're already dead. Lifeline said nobody was going to die."

Lifeline heaved a sigh. "I did _not _jinx us, Clutch."

Beachhead shushed them and keyed the radio. "Bazooka! Let 'em have it!"

"_Roger!_"

"Storm, Tripwire! You're on!"

"_We hear you, Beach!_" Nomad breathed a little easier after hearing Tripwire's voice.

"Lowlight, get ready! We're goin' in!"

"_Got you covered. Good hunting, Joes._"

There were several muffled explosions from up ahead. Glancing out the windscreen, Nomad saw the sky glowing orange. A few moments later, there was another boom - she suspected Bazooka had just hit his second of three targets.

"Gate's in sight!" Clutch advised. The truck lurched as he floored the accelerator. "By the way, Nomad, I love movies. How 'bout I take you to see one if we survive this? I'll let you pick."

"If we survive this, I'll think about it."

He glanced sideways at her. "Really?"

"Clutch, just watch where you're going!" She braced herself for an impact.

The grease monkey switched the headlights on. The APC hit the gate - and the owl-eyed gate guards - at full speed and burst straight through, flinging it aside with a metallic _sproing_. As they passed the guard house, Beachhead kicked his door open and opened fire on it, spraying bullets through the glass windows - and anybody who might have been behind them.

The base was a large, blockish building built against - and into - the bottom of the cliff. There was little cover to be had, save for a couple of storage sheds to the sides of the main building. Trip and Storm had tried to do something about that by destroying some vehicles so that they'd provide cover as well. Not all of them were burning, some were overturned, some were sabotaged beyond repair, like that tank with no left tread and the shredded turret. Nomad glanced around, but couldn't see Bazooka, Tripwire or Storm Shadow anywhere.

Clutch swerved the APC to a stop behind the charred shell of a tank - it looked like a HISS model, but Nomad couldn't be sure. The tank had been blown apart from the inside, spreading debris around. Several of the armour plates were still big enough to crouch behind.

Roadblock, Stalker and Beachhead leaped out of the truck. A alarm was sounding inside the base - blue uniformed troops were running out the main entrance, guns up, but none seemed to know exactly what was going on just yet. Rock 'n' Roll mowed most of them down with the APC's gun, but more troops replaced them.

There were a lot of blue uniforms coming out of that building.

Nomad glanced across at Lifeline. "You ready?"

He looked back at her and nodded. He seemed calm. Actually, he looked calmer than Nomad felt.

"Stay behind me. Let's go!"

She vaulted out of the truck. The medic followed close behind, medical kit in one hand, and the APC sped off. Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll would stay in it as long as possible, or until the gun ran out of ammo.

Roadblock, Stalker and Beachhead were already fanning out behind any cover they could find. For a moment, Nomad just stared in awe as Roadblock fired the .50 BMG on the run, knocking down an entire line of Cobras before they had time to scatter. Then a spray of bullets hit the other side of the metal plate beside her head, and her mind snapped back to the mission. She leaned around and took down two Cobra troops with a short burst from her rifle. She surveyed the area quickly before hunkering back.

She and Lifeline were almost in the middle of the field, directly in front of the base entrance. Not the best place to be. She wanted to be off to one side, where she wouldn't be behind the first thing the Cobras saw when they came running outside. They had the upper hand - they had the sides of the main entrance to hide behind, and they also had pre-made barricades that they were already rolling out.

"See that jeep, the one on its side?" She pointed past Lifeline to the overturned vehicle. The undercarriage was facing toward the base. It wasn't too far to run, a couple hundred metres at most. The canopy on the back was on fire, but that wouldn't be a problem, they could pull it off if the flames didn't spread too much more. "We're heading for that. I'll be covering your ass, so keep me between you and the bad guys, alright? I can't watch where you're running and shoot them at the same time."

"I've done this before, Nomad."

"Right. Sorry. Ready? Go!"

They bolted for the overturned jeep. As soon as they burst out from behind the piece of tank armour, bullets started to zing around them. Nomad returned fire, not bothering to aim, just hoping to get a few lucky hits in.

They both dived behind the jeep. Lifeline ripped the canopy off and stamped the fire out. Nomad stuck her head out and depleted what ammo was left in the clip with some short bursts of aimed fire. There was a gap in one of the Cobra barricades that hadn't been visible from the tank wreckage; she picked off a few troops before they realised and plugged the hole.

Still, that made a few less snakes to worry about.

She reloaded, then suddenly a flash of white appeared between her and the medic. "What the -" She swung the butt of the rifle instinctively.

A hand snatched at the gun and shoved it aside. "It's me." Storm Shadow pulled the bottom half of his mask down and wiped sweat from his face. A less startled look at the ninja revealed his normally pristine outfit to be splattered with red. "You hurt the ones in _blue_, Nomad."

"Sorry." She switched her rifle to short-burst to conserve ammunition, then moved back and forth from one end of the jeep to the other, only half paying attention to Lifeline and Storm as she and the Cobras exchanged fire. The blue-uniforms didn't seem to realise there were only a few Joes - they were staying safely behind their barriers. That wouldn't last long.

Lifeline had noticed the blood too. It wasn't exactly hard to miss against the white. "Are you hurt?"

The ninja shook his head. "No, none of it's mine. The two goons down the road were messy."

"Charming. Bazooka and Tripwire?"

"Also fine. They're over there." He pointed to the shed to the left, then stopped Nomad as she sidestepped past him. "Cover me."

"What are you gonna do?"

He gestured to the base. "I'm going to try to get inside."

"You're what?" She didn't call him crazy, but her expression probably said it anyway.

"If I can get inside, I can slow the number of troops coming out."

"I don't care if you're a fucking ninja, Storm, that's suicidal! You can't -"

"I'll go if you give me cover fire or not," Storm said. "But if you cover me I've got more chance of actually making it. Your call."

Well, that was a great choice. "Alright, but if you die I'm writing 'I told you so' on your headstone."

"Deal."

Nomad climbed up the jeep to a higher vantage point. To the right, she could hear the roar of Roadblock's .50. From somewhere in the distance came the familiar crack of Lowlight's sniper rifle. It was reassuring to know he was out there somewhere, watching their backs through his starlight scope.

"Wait," Storm said, tapping her ankle before she stood straight and exposed her head. "Bazooka's going to make me a new door."

Right on cue, a muffled _fwomp_ came from the left. A few moments later, the wall of the base blew up.

"ow!" Storm Shadow was running before the last bits of concrete hit the ground. Nomad popped her head over the side of the jeep, squeezing the trigger and aiming for blue uniforms in general.

Later, she would wonder why Storm even asked for her help. He didn't need it. Most of the Cobras took one look at him and ran the other way. Those who didn't were cut down by the sword. It was disturbing, seeing just how easily that sword could slice through a person.

Of course, Nomad had an aversion to slicing weapons in general. She'd carry them, use them if she had to, but that didn't mean she liked them.

Every now and then Storm's hand flicked out, and metres away a soldier would fall, a throwing star no doubt lodged somewhere fatal. He looked like something out of a movie - the way Storm moved was incredible. Nomad had never seen anything like it - not even that time she'd watched Storm Shadow and Snake Eyes spar.

Mental note: don't piss off either ninja again.

Storm Shadow disappeared inside the building, leaving a trail of bodies piled up behind him.

"Um…Nomad?" Lifeline tugged at the leg of her fatigues.

"What now?" She dropped to the ground and spun to see a Cobra troop with his gun levelled at the medic. He must've snuck around the fence line to get behind them. "Dammit."

"Drop the weapon," the troop ordered.

Nomad bent and lowered her rifle carefully to the ground, cursing at herself. She'd been so busy watching Storm Shadow she'd neglected her own duty: Lifeline.

"Hit the dirt and spread 'em wide, both of you."

She stepped in front of the medic. "Get down, Lifeline."

Lifeline got down, his arms and legs splayed out as the troop had ordered. Nomad didn't move, trying to think of a way to buy time - at least give the medic time to get away. She wondered if the Cobra was stupid enough to fall for a 'behind you!'. She doubted it. Her hand twitched toward the ka-bar knife at her thigh.

"I said -"

The guy's head exploded, spraying her with warm blood and small gooey blobs and tiny sharp bits of skull shrapnel. Lifeline, on the ground, missed out, but he scrambled to his feet quickly as the body crumpled, blood squirting copiously from the stump of the neck.

"Remind me to thank Lowlight for that," she growled, wiping her face with her sleeve. She picked her rifle up, stepped forward and ripped the soldier's gun from his limp hands. "Here, hold this," she said grumpily, thrusting the gun toward Lifeline. "Might need it later if I run out of ammo."

Lifeline backed away, his hands up. "No way."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you're a pacifist and all, you told me. I just want you to hold it for me until -"

"I can't. I'm sorry, Nomad, it goes against everything I -"

"Alright, alright." She looked at him, sighed, then slipped the strap over her own shoulder. "You won't even _touch_ a gun?"

He shook his head. "I'm sor -"

She waved him off, reloading again. She checked her pockets; four clips left. "You have your beliefs. I get that," she said, glancing around. "Might've been nice to know you're _that_ much of a pacifist before, though, but I'm not gonna -" She broke off and popped her head around the jeep as something exploded. "Son of a bitch, the APC just got fragged!"

Across the grounds the APC rocked on its axles as it hit the crater made by the grenade, then burst into flames before their eyes. Rock 'n' Roll bailed out, leaping from the back. He rolled to his feet, then went down heavily on one knee, grabbing at his leg. Somebody - silhouetted against the flames she couldn't see who, but from the build it looked like Beachhead - rushed forward, grabbed the surfer dude under the arms and pulled him back behind the sabotaged tank with the shredded gun turret.

"C'mon, Clutch, jump!" Nomad shouted, even though there was no chance he'd hear her.

The APC was headed straight for the main entrance. The fire had spread, and the whole truck was burning. As she and Lifeline watched, it crashed into the wall and blew - but not before the driver's side door flung open and Clutch threw himself out. His fall was cushioned by several Cobra soldiers. Nomad saw the mechanic stagger to his feet, then she cringed back as a bullet sparked off the jeep next to her. Apparently not everyone had stopped to watch the fireworks. She risked another peek. Clutch was sprinting for cover.

"He made it!" Lifeline breathed. "But Rock 'n' Roll looked like he was hurt. I need to get to him."

A thud behind them made them whirl around, fearing another Cobra soldier had snuck up on them. All they saw was Bazooka picking Tripwire off the ground.

Lifeline looked both men over. "You're bleeding," he said to Tripwire. The clumsy explosives man had blood on the torn left leg of his BDUs.

"It's okay. I fell over a log on the way up here before and grazed my knee."

"Skoog," Nomad said, exasperated. She looked from him to Bazooka. "How are you guys for ammo?"

"I'm good," Tripwire said.

Bazooka shook his head slowly. "No grenades left."

"Here." She gave him the Cobra gun and pointed to the headless body. "He might have some spare clips."

"Thanks."

Lifeline, now that he knew Tripwire wasn't seriously injured, looked at Nomad impatiently. "Rock 'n' Roll needs -"

"We're going."

"We'll cover you," Bazooka said.

"Whoa! Oh, gross…"

They all turned to see Tripwire picking himself up from the puddle of blood he'd slipped in while searching the dead Cobra for ammo. "Found some."

Bazooka reloaded his new gun. "Now?" he asked Nomad.

"Now!"

Nomad and Lifeline ran back the way they'd come, to the tank in the middle of the grounds. Stalker and Roadblock were now behind it; they'd dragged the tank armour together and made a makeshift barricade. Stalker moved aside as much as he could for them. "Rock 'n' Roll took a bullet in the thigh," he advised. "I've radioed the backup team; they're on their way. Let's hope Hawk and the others don't need much longer. Nomad, you got any spare clips?"

"Four." She handed two over, then cringed and covered her ears as Roadblock bounced to his feet and fired the Browning over their heads. "Son of a -"

He looked down at her. "Told you so."

She pulled a face at him. "Real cute. I like you better when you're cooking."

"So do I."

"These clips ain't gonna last long," Stalker pointed out.

"I know, but I'll need the other two to get me and Lifeline over to Rock 'n' Roll and back," she replied.

She glanced sideways at the medic. He was fidgeting anxiously. Nomad peered over the barricade. "There's nothing between us and Rock 'n' Roll," she said. "I hope you're fast, Lifeline. Can you give us some cover, Roadblock?"

The big man lifted the .50. "The hell kinda question is that?"

Nomad checked the clip of her rifle. Still half-full. She nodded to Lifeline.

As one, they leaped over the barricade, spurred on by the deafening thunder of the Browning. As soon as they burst out from behind the cover, bullets started flying around them, pocking the tank armour behind them and zinging off the concrete by their feet. "Just run! Don't stop!" Nomad shouted at the medic. She followed her own advice, assault rifle blazing aimlessly in the direction of the base.

Something hot seared across her left side. She gave a sharp cry; Lifeline slowed.

"Go!" If it had been her right side, the bullet would've gone straight past her and into Lifeline. She gave up on firing, grabbed the medic by the arm and forced him to keep running.

They reached the tank, skidding to a stop. "Rock 'n' Roll!"

He was sitting calmly with his legs stretched out in front of him, pressing a hand to his right thigh. His BDUs were soaked with blood. Beachhead crouched beside him. "What about Clutch? Did he get out of the APC?"

"Yeah, he got out," Lifeline assured the surfer dude.

Rock 'n' Roll leaned his head back against the tank, relieved. Lifeline immediately went to work, opening the kit and shoving - actually _shoving_ - Beachhead aside. Nomad stood with her back to them, making sure no Cobras were sneaking around the side of the tank. "Is it bad?"

Rock 'n' Roll answered. "Nah, it's not spurting, or anything."

She turned to give him a look of disbelief. "I was talking to the _medic_."

Lifeline shook his head. "He's right. The bullet passed straight through and there's no serious damage done." He wound a bandage tightly around Rock 'n' Roll's leg. "You're just lucky it didn't hit an artery."

Relieved, Nomad edged back around the tank. This was a good spot; the Cobra troops had to come right out in the open to see if there was anything on her side. A bullet took a chip out of the paint beside her eyes; she retaliated with a quick burst of strafing fire. There was a short scream.

"You're next."

"Huh?" She looked around as Lifeline pawed at her side. "No, I'm good. It just grazed me, that's all. It can wait til later."

He gave her a glare reminiscent of Beachhead. Just out of curiosity, she turned to compare the two. "Oh, that's scary. Alright!"

She passed her gun to Rock 'n' Roll, then unbuttoned her mottled green shirt. There was a new tear in it. Underneath, her white top was also torn, and a small red stain had already spread.

Lifeline reached for the hem of the tank top and gingerly folded it up to her navel. They both inspected the shallow groove in her flesh, just above her left hip. The bullet had taken a few layers of skin off, but that was all. "See? Nothing - ouch!" She let fly a string of curses as the medic doused her with antiseptic.

Lifeline raised an eyebrow. "What're you complaining about? It's 'just a graze'."

"Shut up." She shifted impatiently - and saw Rock 'n' Roll looking at her. Or more precisely, at the scars on her belly. "What, you never seen -"

"_Why_ am ah the only one shootin'?" Beachhead snarled, rounding on them. His eyes took in Nomad's scars swiftly. "Rock 'n' Roll, get your tactless eyes back in your head! Lifeline, hurry up an' patch her so's she can start doin' her damned job!" He spun as Stalker gave a loud yell. "Gawddammit, what now?"

Lifeline grabbed a gauze pad and taped it over the wound. "I'll clean it properly later and -"

"Lifeline, trust me, this is nothing." Nomad quickly pulled the tank top down, buttoned her shirt and grabbed her gun from Rock 'n' Roll.

He frowned at her. "Where'd you get -"

"Not now!" she snapped.

Beachhead stepped past her and pulled Rock 'n' Roll to his feet. "Time to go! Stalker just got word from Hawk on the radio. We got two minutes to drag our asses outta here 'fore the whole damned base goes ka-boom!"

"Then it's a good thing they showed up!" Rock 'n' Roll said, grinning broadly and pointing.

Beach, Lifeline and Nomad turned to see the backup team speeding through the gate. Covergirl's jeep, with Spirit riding shotgun and Sci-Fi manning the gun on back, veered off to the left. Quick Kick and Flint was in the other jeep; they spotted Nomad and the others and drove straight for them. "All aboard!" Quick Kick said cheerfully.

"What took so damn long?" Beachhead complained.

"Long? We got here…as fast as we could!" Flint replied between bursts of fire from the gun. "We only…got Stalker's call…a couple of minutes ago!"

Nomad quickly checked her watch, and was a little surprised to find that only ten minutes had passed since they'd crashed Cobra's party. It seemed like much longer.

"Well, you better get this thing in gear, this base ain't gonna _be_ here in a couple minutes!"

Beach and Lifeline loaded Rock 'n' Roll into the passenger seat, ignoring his protests that he could ride on the hood. Lifeline squeezed in beside the wounded man, and Beachhead and Nomad braced their feet on the sidesteps on either side of the jeep, holding on to the rollbar with one hand and keeping their guns ready in the other.

Quick Kick floored the accelerator and spun the jeep around. They fell in behind the other VAMP, now carrying Stalker, Bazooka, Tripwire, Roadblock and Clutch. Storm Shadow wasn't with them.

As they swerved out the gate and back onto the road heading down the mountain, Nomad heard the Cobra troops cheering.

"I almost feel bad for them," Flint said, though he didn't sound particularly sympathetic.

They'd just made it back to where the APC had been parked when the base exploded. There was a huge boom, followed by an unbelievably loud crack.

"The cliff just collapsed," Spirit mused.

A large cloud of smoke billowed up overhead, eerily lit by the flames beneath.

"What's that other noise?" Sci-Fi wondered.

Nomad listened, then heard what the laser gunner was talking about; smaller rumbling noises that weren't echoes.

"Rockslides caused by the blast," Spirit said. "My guess is the base extended back inside the mountain and the others blew the power generators."

Quick Kick and Covergirl stopped the jeeps in the middle of the road, and the Joes that were able to climbed out - or fell out, in Tripwire's case. Stalker strode away, trying to raise the infiltration team on the radio.

Lifeline headed straight for the other jeep. Clutch hadn't moved; he was lying on the hood, feet braced against the bull bar. His eyes were closed, but he sat up when Lifeline carefully touched the blackened sleeve of his shirt. Seeing Nomad looking at him, the mechanic winked roguishly and patted the car beside him, beckoning her to sit.

Well, Clutch was okay. Still, she decided to humour him just this once - he _had_ almost just got blown up, after all. She perched on the VAMP next to him and watched as Lifeline gave the grease monkey a once-over.

Tripwire and Rock 'n' Roll were quickly filling the backup team in on the assault. "And Storm was inside the base, too," Tripwire finished anxiously.

"Don't worry. If there was a way out, Stormy would've found it. He's had more narrow escapes than I can count." Covergirl was standing beside Beachhead, her arms around his waist as she leaned against him. He'd taken off his balaclava; his dark hair was sticking up in all directions and the skin around his eyes was sweat streaked and grimy.

"What happened to _you_?" Sci-Fi asked Tripwire, looking in disgust at the blood up the back of Tripwire's uniform.

"Slipped."

Sci-Fi shook his head.

Stalker rejoined them, holding the radio up triumphantly. "I got 'em!"

The mood lightened immediately, and the Joes started talking all at once. "Are they okay?"

"How'd they get out?"

"Where are they?"

"Is Stormy with 'em?"

Stalker chuckled. "Yeah, they got out! There was an underground passage that led through the cliff to the other side of the mountain. Tommy's with 'em."

Nomad frowned. "Tommy?" she whispered to Lifeline. "Storm's real name?"

The medic nodded.

"Ah." She raised her voice. "Stalker, what about Lowlight?"

"Lowlight's gonna be picked up from his position. We're just waitin' for Wild Bill to fly the Tomahawk in and pick us up." He looked around at them all. "Everyone doin' okay? Anyone else 'sides Rock 'n' Roll get hit?"

Nobody volunteered anything, even though the assault team were all a little worse for wear. Most of them were bleeding from some cut or other but, miraculously, nobody apart from Rock 'n' Roll was seriously hurt.

"Clutch has a few minor burns," Lifeline said. He'd finished rinsing and wrapping bandages carefully around the worst of them. "And Nomad got tagged."

She threw the medic an irritated glance.

Stalker gave her and Clutch a cursory inspection. "Alright. Flint and Spirit, you can come with me to scout out what's left of the base, see if any snakes slithered out. The rest of you wait here. Stay alert." As he passed, Stalker gave her a nod. "You did okay, kid," he said without stopping.

"Uh…thanks," she answered, a little surprised.

Lifeline nudged her and gave her a knowing look. She looked back at him, smiling broadly and feeling somewhat proud of herself.

Maybe she'd make it as a Joe yet.

* * *

Wild Bill arrived half an hour later in the big Tomahawk chopper. There was no room for the helicopter to land, so Wild Bill - about the closest thing to a real-life cowboy Nomad had ever seen - kept it hovering above tree level while the harnesses were lowered.

As she was 'wounded', Nomad was third to be winched up, after Rock 'n' Roll and Clutch. She let Lifeline know exactly what she thought about that, then promptly got cuffed across the head by Beachhead for wasting time.

At the top, it was Hawk himself who offered his left hand to pull her into the chopper. He was favouring his other arm and there was blood on his sleeve. He caught her looking. "Nothing to worry about. Just another battle scar," he said as the cable unspooled, lowering the harness back down.

"Oh, yeah. I know about those." She brushed off the greenshirt medic standing by and turned, stepping carefully over Rock 'n' Roll's legs. She strode the length of the chopper, wobbling a little as it swayed, and stuck her head into the cockpit. "Hey, Wild Bill!"

The chopper pilot touched the brim of his cowboy hat with one finger. "Hey, Nomad! Take a seat, darlin', we'll be outta here in no time!"

Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Mainframe and Scarlett were already seated. Snakes and Storm looked a little dishevelled; Storm's mask was gone, and there were several rips in Snake Eyes' black suit. Scarlett had a nice big shiner. Mainframe - who was an older Joe, a vet and a computer expert, and had just about seen more years of action than Nomad had been alive - was already asleep. His short-sleeved shirt was torn, but otherwise he looked okay.

Nomad envied the techie a little - she'd been awake for over twenty four hours. Of course, once she realised that, it hit her. She was suddenly very, very tired.

Across from Scarlett and Snakes was Lowlight. His head was leaning back against the seat, and his blue-grey jumpsuit was unzipped to the waist, revealing the red shirt he wore underneath. His goggles were hiding his eyes. She couldn't tell if he was awake or sleeping.

"Are you gonna sit down, or not?"

Well, he was awake. Nomad sat wearily beside him, placing her assault rifle at her feet. She took in a hissing breath as her side twinged.

"You okay?" Lowlight placed his goggles atop his head and looked her up and down.

"Yeah, just got grazed." She pulled her shirt out and stuck a finger in the hole left by the bullet.

"Maybe you should have the medical team -"

She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. It really _is_ only just a graze." She paused. "By the way, thanks for exploding that guy's head all over me back there."

"It was either his head or yours. Yours looked better."

She grinned. "Well, it definitely does _now_."

Lowlight chuckled.

Once everyone was loaded on, Wild Bill brought the chopper around.

"Alright, Tripwire, it's your show," Hawk said.

Tripwire pulled the pin on a grenade, then lobbed it out the door, down onto the two VAMP jeeps. There was no way to get them back onto a plane to extract them, so they had to go.

Clutch groaned, shaking his head sadly.

"Don't worry, Clutch, we'll get you a new VAMP," Hawk reassured him. "Hell, with what we found out, Uncle Sam'll buy you a whole new _convoy_ of 'em."

"Why? What'd you find?" Lifeline asked, peeling back the General's shirt to take a look at his arm. "Hawk, this is gonna need stitches."

Nomad peeked over. There was a slash down the General's bicep.

It didn't seem to bother him. "Mainframe managed to download pretty much the entire Cobra computer system; I don't think we could get more if we'd brought the whole thing with us. Once he gets it unscrambled, we should be able to get something useful out of it."

Mainframe opened one eye as he heard his name, decided whatever everyone was talking about wasn't too important, then went straight back to sleep.

Nomad leaned back in her seat until the chopper stopped for a couple of minutes to pick up Stalker, Flint and Spirit from the base. Then she - and the rest of the assault team - sat forward to check out the damage.

There wasn't much left of the building. As Spirit had said, the cliff had collapsed, burying most of the base. Fires still spotted the grounds. She saw the big red blotch where the headless Cobra troop was lying behind the overturned jeep. She turned away, repressing a shudder.

Stalker was the last one to climb into the chopper. Hawk closed the door after him, then turned and looked proudly around at them. "You did good out there tonight, Joes," he said. "You can all rest easy now. Wild Bill, take us back to the Flagg."

"We're on our way, Hawk."


	8. Chapter Seven

Just want to start off by saying thanks so much for the kind reviews. After the last few weeks I've had, it was nice to know I got _something_ right :D

willwrite4fics - Thanks for clearing that up for me! I've just been going on the comics where the Joes were saying how heavy the Browning was to lift. Heh heh, makes more sense to me now (once I converted it to kg!). Still, I don't think I could lift one. I'm weak :D

Hotshot14 - I'd love to put Big Ben and Lt. Stone in for you, but I haven't met them yet! I have nothing with them in it yet - and I'm kind of annoyed that I don't now, coz they sound cool - but I don't want to put them in and get them completely wrong. If I find something, I'll put them in!

karama9 - I'm glad to hear you're still liking this. Hope this chapter's okay, too!

Okay, so here it is. Next chapter. Sorry it's kinda short…and slow…and Nomad starts feeling a bit sorry for herself…but I already had the parts with Lowlight and Mutt written and HAD to put them somewhere. I may just have to practice my fight scenes next chapter, though :D

* * *

"Awww. Isn't that just adorable?"

Nomad opened her eyes reluctantly. She was remarkably comfy and warm and really, _really_ didn't want to move. But Covergirl and Scarlett were grinning at her. Suspiciously.

Figuring she'd better find out what was up, Nomad lifted a hand to rub her fuzzy-feeling eyes. "How long was I asleep?"

She hadn't thought it possible, but the grins grew wider. Something shifted slightly beneath her head, and Nomad looked up.

Lowlight looked back.

She jerked upright so fast she almost fell off her seat - which Scarlett and Covergirl found amusing. "Oh! Damn. I…um…sorry, Lowlight."

God, how embarrassing. At some point when she'd been asleep, her head had dropped onto the sniper's shoulder. She'd never live it down.

"It's okay." Lowlight shrugged it off.

Nomad tried to make light of the situation. "Uh…I didn't drool on you, did I?"

Oh, yeah, _that_ was smooth. Covergirl let out a snicker.

"Nope." A crooked smile crossed Lowlight's face.

"Oh…good. I sometimes drool when I sleep. Um." She needed to stop talking.

Covergirl snorted.

"You just shut up." Stifling a yawn Nomad stood, stretched and glanced around. They were now back in the hold of the C-130, making the return flight to McGuire Airfield after a short stop on the Flagg. After the debriefing, Nomad had time to wash the Cobra blood and gore from her hair, grab a bite to eat and say hey again to a few of the guys before being rounded up to get on the plane to head back to the Pit. Joe HQ was seriously undermanned; Hawk wanted to get back as soon as possible.

She must've dozed off not long after the plane cleared the runway. The sleep hadn't been long enough - it only made her realise she needed more, but now that she was awake, she wouldn't be able to nod off again. Especially not with Covergirl, Scarlett and Lowlight around.

They were perched on some crates of rations against the left side of the plane. The rest of the Joes were spread out. Lifeline was on the opposite side, leaning against the wall by Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll. Beachhead was sprawled on the floor not far from the medic, sacked out with his head pillowed by a parachute. Roadblock, Sci-Fi, Tripwire, Bazooka, Quick Kick, Spirit and Mainframe were sitting on the floor by the loading ramp playing cards. Nomad watched Sci-Fi point to Tripwire, and the explosives expert threw a card at him. Sci-Fi then turned to Mainframe; the vet shook his head and Sci-Fi took a card from a stack in the middle of the men. It looked like they were playing 'Go Fish'.

It was kind of cute. Nomad chuckled to herself.

She looked the other way, toward the cockpit where Slipstream was once again probably complaining about the manoeuvrability of the big transport plane compared to his fighter jet. Hawk, Flint and Stalker were up there, probably still going over the mission. Not far from the ration crates, Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow were sitting cross-legged on the floor. Nomad assumed they were meditating - or some ninja-ish thing like that.

She turned back to the two women and the sniper. "How long til we get to McGuire?" She paused, narrowing her eyes at Covergirl. "And you can just stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Covergirl asked, smiling innocently.

Dammit. The model was going to make something of this, Nomad was sure of it.

"We've got about an hour of airtime left," Scarlett answered. "Oh, and you should go see Lifeline. He wanted to check up on you before, but when he saw you sleeping -"

"- on Lowlight -" Covergirl interrupted mischievously.

"- he said it could wait," Scarlett finished.

Lowlight nodded. "We didn't want to wake you up."

Covergirl smiled. "Yeah, since you looked so peaceful and innocent and all."

Nomad raised her finger at the woman. Covergirl returned the gesture gracefully. Nomad felt a brief, irrational pang of jealousy - the woman looked good even when she was being rude.

"I thought it was just a graze," Scarlett said.

"It _is_," Nomad said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "Why does nobody believe me? You know what Lifeline's like."

"Rock 'n' Roll said -"

Uh oh. Nomad looked at the redhead sharply. "_What_ did Rock 'n' Roll say?"

Scarlett and Covergirl looked guiltily at each other. "Well…" Scarlett said hesitantly. "He said…"

"Beach tried to shut him up," Covergirl added quickly, "but it was too late. You know how Rock 'n' Roll sometimes just blurts things out. And Lifeline had just given him some painkillers, and…" She trailed off with a hopeless little flap of her hands.

Nomad sighed. There was no denying it now; if they already knew, there was no point trying to keep it secret. "He told you about the scars, huh?"

Scarlett nodded.

Nomad shook her head. "Great," she muttered.

Well…she'd told Stalker part of the story. Why not Scarlett, Covergirl and Lowlight? She was much closer to them than she was to the Ranger…wouldn't it be easier to tell them? But then, Hawk had given her an ultimatum: tell Stalker or pack her bags and leave. Volunteering information was completely different.

But…they were friends, weren't they? This was a new dilemma for her. She hadn't really had any friends to talk to since -

They were all looking at her as if she was going to explode. She didn't blame them; she _felt_ like she was going to explode.

"You don't have to -" Covergirl started quickly.

Nomad made up her mind. "What the hell." She grabbed the hem of the fresh shirt she'd been given on the aircraft carrier and tucked it up a little.

Covergirl pressed the fingertips of one hand to her lips, swearing quietly. Scarlett shook her head as she looked at the long scars latticing Nomad's belly and the three smaller, almost circular stab scars. Lowlight's eyes flicked over her stomach quickly, but he said nothing and his expression didn't change.

"What -" Covergirl stopped herself before finishing the question.

"There was -" Nomad thought about it, then started again. "I was…ah…a mission went wrong." It sounded lame, but it was all she could bring herself to say. Thankfully, Covergirl and Scarlett both nodded.

She readjusted her shirt and sat beside Lowlight again. For an awkward few seconds nobody said anything…until Lowlight leaned close. "More of baby bear getting screwed over by Goldilocks?" he whispered bluntly.

She snapped her head around to glare at him. "_What_?"

He just gazed back with that measured blue stare of his. It took everything she had to keep from slapping the look right off his face. "You don't know what you're talking about," she snarled angrily.

Covergirl and Scarlett both glanced up at her. Nomad lowered her voice and tried to calm herself. "Well, I better go tell Lifeline I'm not dying," she said. Her voice shook. She tried to tell herself it was because she was mad - but that wasn't the case. Lowlight had unsettled her.

"Hey -" Covergirl started, but Scarlett hushed her. As Nomad stomped away toward the other side of the plane where the medic still sat, she heard the redhead berating Lowlight quietly.

Damn sniper. Nomad scowled. She would have been fine if he hadn't said that; the awkwardness would have passed and everything would've been okay. Why couldn't he just leave it alone and mind his own business? Why should he care, anyway? It wasn't _his_ problem, it was hers, and -

And she wasn't dealing with it as well as she'd thought. Lowlight had only been echoing her own words, although she hadn't meant them in that way.

Maybe Hawk was right…maybe she _did_ need to see Psyche Out.

…Nah.

Lowlight had probably just been guessing. She swore at herself; just by getting defensive, she'd most likely given him the answer to his question. Lowlight wasn't stupid.

And he'd let her sleep with her head on his shoulder for a long time, with a high risk of getting drooled on. That _was_ kind of…nice…

"Good to see you getting some sleep, for a change," Lifeline said with a smile as she eased herself to the floor beside him. "You looked pretty comf -"

"Shut up, you damn pain in the ass medic," she said grumpily.

"Obviously not _enough_ sleep." He frowned at her when she gave him a foul look. "What's wrong?"

"Rock 'n' Roll told everyone about…" She gestured to her stomach.

The medic ran a hand through his hair. "Oh. Yeah. Look, don't be angry with him. He was hurting and I'd just given him a shot of morphine. You can blame me."

Nomad glanced over at the bearded man. He was snoring quietly, his cap pulled over his eyes. The crutches he'd been given were on the floor beside him. Seeing him like that, she couldn't bring herself to be annoyed with him. As for blaming Lifeline, she found it hard to stay irritated with the medic for long. He was just too…decent. She waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, don't worry about it. I'm sure I'm not the only one around here with a few scars."

He shook his head. "You certainly aren't," he said quietly. "And hey, if you ever need to talk -"

"Thanks," she interrupted, not really wanting to think about 'talking' anymore. She appreciated it, though.

Lifeline seemed to understand. "How's your side?" He reached for her shirt.

She knocked his hand away. "Not one for personal space, are you?"

The look he gave her was enough to make her feel guilty. "Don't worry, it's fine. Doc gave me a clean patch back on the Flagg."

Doc was the Joes' resident doctor. He'd been with the Joes longer than Lifeline had. He'd insisted on taking a look at the 'wound', too, assuming - correctly - that she was 'going to be one of the ones who needed strapping down for checkups'.

He won her over with humour and a lollipop bribe. "You know, Doc's not as fussy as you."

"Doc lets you all get away with too much," Lifeline grumbled.

"Yeah, well. I think you should start carrying lollipops around in your kit." She grinned and relented, pulling one side of tape off to let him inspect the graze. It looked a little better now than it had before. It was still raw and oozing a little of that clear yellowish liquid, but all in all it was no worse than a carpet burn. Once she was back at the Pit and Lifeline wasn't around to continually warn her about nasty infections (that she wasn't likely to ever get), she'd take the patch off.

"Well, if I didn't have soldiers insisting they were fine even when half their insides were on the outside, I wouldn't _have_ to be so fussy." He paused. "Oh…I didn't mean -"

"I suppose that's a point," she conceded quickly, trying to ignore his phrasing. She kept her voice light. "But what kind of sissies would we be then, if we couldn't handle a few little scratches?"

Lifeline studied her, then rolled his eyes. "I don't know why I bother," he muttered.

Nomad laughed. "How's the other patient?" she asked, turning to Clutch.

The driver waved a bandaged hand. "I'm okay. But hey, if you wanna come an' kiss me better, I wouldn't object."

"Not happening, grease monkey." She glanced at Lifeline. "You should knock him out like you did Rock 'n' Roll."

"So, Nomad," Clutch said, grinning slyly at her and ignoring the dig.

"What?" she asked warily.

"Decided what movie you want to go see?"

She frowned. "What're you -"

"You said if we survived the mission you'd think about going to see a movie with me."

That's right. Just before they'd crashed through the gates in the APC. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I thought about it."

"And?"

"And I think I'll pass." She smirked at him. "Nice try, though."

He sighed theatrically, glancing at Lifeline. "How 'bout some more o' those painkillers? She just broke my heart."

Despite herself, Nomad giggled.

"C'mon," Clutch pressed his advantage. "Ain't I your type?"

"Are you _anybody's_ type?"

"Ouch."

She laughed again, reaching over and patting his leg gingerly. "You remind me of somebody I used to know," she said absently.

He clicked his fingers. "I knew it! He an ex?"

Dammit. She must be tired; she was letting things slip. "Uh…I -" She glanced around, fishing for an escape route. Her eyes fell on the Joes playing cards. She stood up. "I'm gonna go see if I can help somebody cheat," she decided.

"What? But you didn't answer me!" Clutch complained. "You can't do that to a wounded man!"

Lifeline shook his head. "Let it go, Clutch."

"But she can't do that! That's just…mean!"

She smiled and winked at him over her shoulder as she strode over to the small circle of card-playing men.

"Did I ever tell you I like mysterious chicks?" he called.

"Seriously, Lifeline, dope him. Please. You'll be doing us _all_ a favour."

* * *

A little over an hour, several games of 'Go Fish' and a short APC ride later, they arrived back at the Pit. It was already light, and somewhere around the perimeter she could hear a gruff voice yelling. It sounded like Leatherneck sticking it to a bunch of greenshirts at PT.

Nomad was amongst the first of the Joes out of the personnel elevator.

She backed up instantly. "No, no, no!" She raised her hands defensively. "Down, Junk! Down!"

The big dog didn't listen. He leaped up, planted his front paws on her shoulders, knocked her flat and slobbered all over her face. "Mutt! Help!"

Mutt was rarely seen without his dog Junkyard by his side. The first time she'd seen him, in her first hand-to-hand session, Nomad had been a little frightened. The dog was fine; it had been Mutt she'd been worried about. "Why is _he_ wearing the muzzle?" she'd asked Gung Ho.

"Because _he's_ the one more likely to bite you," Gung Ho had answered seriously.

She'd quickly realised that although he looked a little rough, Mutt was okay, as long as you didn't mess with his dog. She didn't like it when he wore the muzzle, though. It gave her the creeps and made her think of Hannibal Lecter.

He wasn't wearing the muzzle today. "Aw, he's just glad to see ya. Junkyard, get down." Mutt grabbed the dog's collar and hauled him off.

Nomad rolled to her knees and crawled over to kneel beside Junk. "Hey, boy! Whatchya doin', Junk? Happy to see me, huh? Huh?" She ruffled the dog's ears, then threw her arms around him and scratched his back. Junkyard's hind leg began to thump the ground. "Didja miss me? Ooh, you're a good boy, aren't ya? Huh? Aren't ya?"

Mutt produced a squeaky bone from a pocket. "You're spoiling him," he chided, though he scratched the dog's ears too before throwing the bone away. Junkyard took off after it. "Good to see you back. You all in the same amount of pieces you left in?"

"Relatively. Could've been worse," she answered, turning and glancing back into the personnel elevator, where Rock 'n' Roll was just hobbling out.

Mutt glanced down as Junkyard nuzzled his hand and placed the squeaky bone in it. He held it out for Nomad. "You wanna?"

She shook her head. "All I wanna do is get to my room and crash," she admitted.

"I hear that," Covergirl said.

Hawk must have heard as well. "Mutt, help Stalker and me collect the weapons. The rest of you, get some sleep. You deserve it."

Lifeline cast a significant look at Nomad. "Hear that?"

"Yes, Lifeline, I heard," she said, exasperated. "And not a word from you, either," she added to Lowlight as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"I wasn't going to say anything," he replied coolly.

"I…well, you were thinking it."

Covergirl grabbed Nomad's arm. "We'll see you all later," she said, slipping the strap of Nomad's assault rifle off her shoulder and handing the gun to Mutt.

Lowlight gave a grunt.

"Night," Lifeline said, unperturbed. "Or should I say day?" He yawned and grinned. "I must be tired, too."

Nomad managed a small wave to everyone before Covergirl dragged her away.

The other woman said nothing until they'd closed the door of their room behind them. "What the hell did Lowlight say to you?"

Nomad fell face first onto her bed. "Dunno what you're talking about," she said evasively. She sat up and unlaced her combat boots, then kicked them off. That was all she intended on doing before falling asleep.

Covergirl gave her a look. "Does he know something I don't?"

"Not unless he's psychic." Or unless she talked more in her sleep than he'd let on. "C'mon, Covergirl, leave me alone, I'm tired."

The former model nodded. "Yeah, me too. I'm gonna go grab a shower, then I plan on sleeping until tomorrow."

"All day _and_ all night?" Nomad grinned. "Ambitious. I like it."

Covergirl grabbed her pyjamas and crossed to the door. "Uh…Nomad?"

Nomad spoke through a yawn. "Yeah?"

"Maybe you should talk to Snake Eyes sometime."

Nomad lifted her head. "Snakes? Why?"

The other woman shrugged. "He's a good listener. And he knows a few things about scars, too."

The door closed quietly behind her. Then it opened again. "You know, that was _real_ nice of Lowlight to let you lean on him for so long…"

With a giggle, Covergirl shut the door again just before Nomad's pillow smacked her in the face.


	9. Chapter Eight

New chapter! Huzzah! Yeah...been a little bit distracted playing Final Fantasy 13...but I got this chapter done, finally.

And it went in completely the opposite direction as I was planning. As usual. Actually, that's pretty much this whole story in a nutshell...

Alrighty then. Chapter Eight. I mention Mahattan somewhere in here...I tell you now, New York City confuses the hell out of me, so if I'm a bit vague on location, or it seems to be taking to long to get somewhere...sorry!

As always, willwrite4fics, Karama9 and Hotshot14, thanks for the reviews. By the way, Hotshot14; presumptuous! :P Heh heh.

Anyways, hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

* * *

"'Scuse me…hey, watch out!"

"_You_ watch out, shrink, we're trainin' here!"

"Do I sense some hostility there, Gung Ho? Alright! Sorry! Has anyone seen - ah, there you are."

Nomad kept her focus on the punching bag Snake Eyes was holding for her as Psyche Out approached. The psychologist wisely stopped a safe distance away. He watched for a moment, then apparently realised Nomad wasn't going to take any notice of him if she didn't have to.

He seemed unperturbed by her non-reaction. "Nomad, you're supposed to be in my office. You made an appointment for 0800, remember?"

She looked over at him. "Is it that time already?"

"It's 8.30."

She shrugged and threw a punch. "Oh. Guess I forgot."

"That's twice in the last week you've forgotten," Psyche Out pointed out casually.

"Well…sorry - hah! - sorry, Psyche Out," she said between more punches, "but I'll have to - hyaa! - reschedule. Kinda…in the middle of - training. Hiiiyaaah!" She didn't need to yell so loud; she was just kind of hoping the guy would get the point and leave her alone.

It didn't work. "And that's _three_ times you've rescheduled. You're not avoiding me, are you?"

"Avoiding you? No." Nomad slammed her knee into the punching bag. "Just busy."

She swung again, then went for a quick second jab, but Snake Eyes had let go of the punching bag. She overbalanced and the bag smacked into her. "Hey!"

He tilted his head at her and signed slowly so she could understand. *Don't let me get in the way of your mental health. Training can wait.*

She scowled. "My mental health is fine, thank you very much." It was an outright lie, and if _she_ knew it, Snakes and Psyche Out _definitely_ knew it.

*Not according to the shrink.*

Psyche Out rolled his eyes. "Well, 'the shrink' has the power to suspend you from active duty, Nomad, and if 'the shrink' has to go to Hawk to get him to countersign orders _requiring_ you to see him neither 'the shrink' nor the General will be happy." He looked at her expectantly.

Dammit. How was she supposed to win against a psychologist? Nomad held out her hands as if she were about to be handcuffed and Snake Eyes removed her boxing gloves. "Alright, alright. Fine." She glanced up at Psyche Out as they weaved their way between the other sparring Joes. "You know, 'the shrink' shouldn't talk about himself in third person."

"The shrink can do what he wants, nobody else is game enough to tell him otherwise."

"So _that's_ how you've lasted this long?"

"You don't make it in G.I Joe unless you're a little bit crazy. I thought you would've figured that out by now."

She chuckled. "Oh, I have. I just didn't think that included the one person who's _supposed_ to be sane."

* * *

Psyche Out's office was in the infirmary, near the one Doc and Lifeline shared. It was a little cushier than theirs, and a lot more private. She'd been okay right up until the point she'd got inside.

It wasn't that she didn't like Psyche Out - she did. He kind of _had_ to be likeable if he wanted to be any good at his job. It was just that once inside the office he went from being a fellow soldier to being a therapist.

Shrinks she _didn't_ like. The only person who had any business being in her head was herself.

Nomad looked at Psyche Out. Psyche Out looked right back. "You know, the whole point of you being here is for you to talk," he stated.

"The only reason I'm here is so you won't suspend me," she said grudgingly.

Psyche Out leaned back in his chair. His was a normal office chair, she'd got the nice, squishy armchair. "I need a reason to not suspend you first."

Nomad frowned. "Do you have a reason _to _suspend me?" She knew it was the wrong question as soon as she asked.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd let _me_ ask the questions. And I have several reasons, by the way." He flipped open a notepad and scanned down it. "You still aren't sleeping well. I've _seen_ you in the rec room watching horror movies at ungodly hours of the morning -"

"I _knew_ you were gonna make a big deal outta that…" she grumbled.

"- there's the caffeine addiction -"

"I am _not_ addicted to caffeine. I just like my coffee, that's all. And anyway, I've cut down." It was true; Lifeline was still on her case. It had become almost Pavlovian - she now looked over her shoulder every time she went to the coffee machine in case the medic was watching her.

Psyche Out pressed on relentlessly. "And just last week you questioned an order from your CO because you were afraid you wouldn't be able to carry it out. Is that correct?"

Nomad looked at him suspiciously. "Where do you hear all this?"

"I have my sources." He grinned, then his expression turned serious. "But that's not what we're discussing. How did you feel when Stalker gave you the order to stay with Lifeline?"

"Psyche Out, this is -"

He suddenly picked up his notepad. "Subject refuses to cooperate," he muttered as he wrote, "suggest suspension from -"

She jumped to her feet. "Hey, you can't just - okay, okay, you _can _do that, but there's a whole lot of reasons _not_ to!"

Psyche Out smiled at her, put his pen and pad down and gestured for her to sit. "Alright. Let's hear them."

"I…well…" Nomad cast a quick glance at the blank notepad and glared at him. "You floppy-haired, sneaky bastard, you tricked me." He didn't even have the decency to look smug about it.

"We'll get back to that," he decided. "Let's talk about the horror movies."

"I knew it…"

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

He made a quick note. A real one.

She sat up straighter, craning her neck. "What'd you just write? Look, I just like scary movies, that's all. Nothing wrong with that."

"Why don't you sleep?"

Nomad opened her mouth. "Because I have…" She hesitated, looking at him nervously.

"Nothing we say goes beyond this office," he assured her. "You know that."

"I still have bad dreams sometimes," she admitted, rushing the words out to get it over with.

"About the your mission in the Amazon?"

"No, about bunny rabbits," she snapped impatiently.

Psyche Out frowned at her. "Nomad…"

She raised a hand. "I know, I know. Sorry." She paused, then said, "They're getting better. I haven't had one for a little while."

"That's great!" The shrink sounded genuinely pleased.

"So can I go now?"

He shook his head. "I'm not done with you yet."

She decided to try a different approach. "Look, I've already been through all the counseling. After I got out of hospital."

"And from your records I see that you were uncooperative and continually missed and rescheduled sessions."

"Well why don't you just read all my files again, if they have all the answers?" she snapped. She lunged to her feet and headed for the door.

Psyche Out's voice remained infuriatingly calm. "I'm not joking, Nomad. If this keeps up, I _will_ take you off the active duty roster. I don't want to, but I will if I have to." He rifled around in one of the drawers of his desk. "I have the forms right here."

She turned around without missing a step and sat back down. She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked across at him. "I'm not going anywhere until you're happy, am I?"

"Nope."

She sighed in resignation. Well, Psyche Out had read her files anyway. She wouldn't be telling him much he didn't already know.

She settled herself in the chair, throwing her legs over one arm and resting her head on the other. "Alright. Where do I start?"

* * *

Maybe she was cursed. That would explain a lot. Yeah…some weirdo Amazonian voodoo witch doctor had seen her creeping through the jungle and put a spell on her, or something.

Dynamite's vision was going blurry around the edges. Every few steps, everything went kind of…wobbly. Her thoughts were getting crazier, too. She realised it, but couldn't help it. Things just kept popping up in her head. It didn't help that the only light came from the flashlight tucked at an awkward angle in the pocket of her fatigues. It lit the trees above and she could see the flashes of green from the corners of her eyes. Every now and then points of light would gleam brightly - sometimes red, sometimes yellow - before vanishing. Eyes. Looking at her in the dark, just waiting for her to drop -

Stop it.

Dynamite bit her lip, then purposely knocked a broken finger against her leg. She almost buckled with the pain that shot right up into her shoulder, but the anger it brought with it sharpened her up a little - enough to keep her going for another few minutes, at least. Anger was good. Anger meant she was still alive and kicking. Sort of. She focused on it as she trudged along, Matches dragging behind her in the waterproof canvas tarpaulin.

One step after another. That's all she had to do: put one foot in front of the other one. And think angry thoughts. Perhaps imagine the General's face just before she blew it away.

It was supposed to be a simple mission: deploy a small team to search for three caches of American weapons - heavy stuff - stolen right off the supply trucks and hidden deep in the Amazon jungle. Goldilocks handpicked the troops himself. It was his mission - he was a decorated and trusted General, he could take whoever he wanted. Dynamite had been last on the list.

…And to think she'd been proud that the General had noticed her.

After three days of tromping through mostly dark, humid, stinking, giant bug-infested jungle, they came across a camp of insurgents. Goldilocks ordered an attack. It went well - until Dynamite and the other soldiers realised that the _other_ half of the insurgents from the camp had them surrounded. They'd walked right into it.

The order came to retreat. Dynamite took drag, bringing up the rear and covering the other guys as they made a run for it. Blake, the comms guy, radioed for a chopper evac. Orders were to head for the river and pop some orange smoke. Anybody who wasn't at the evac point in time would be left behind; it was too dangerous for the pilot to hang around any longer than necessary. Anybody who fell behind would have to wait for another evac when things weren't so hot - and who knew when that might be?

Just before the team reached the river, two insurgents caught up to them. Dynamite never even saw them; they were good at moving undetected through the jungle, better than she and her team. As drag - the soldier watching everyone's back - it was her job to take care of the bad guys. She did - but she took too long.

The chopper was clearing the trees just as she reached the riverbank. To her team's credit, she heard the guys yelling for the pilot to turn back. The chopper wavered a little, but Goldilocks must have ordered the pilot to fly on.

Orders were orders. You followed them…didn't mean you had to like them.

Dynamite snapped out of her thoughts as her foot slipped in a patch of mud and she sprawled face first onto the rough trail cut by Goldilocks' convoy. She rolled as she hit the ground, trying to keep her broken hands clear. The jolt to her shoulder still hurt like hell and sharp pain stabbed through her guts again.

She'd been walking for…well, she didn't know how long. She glanced at her watch, but for some reason the numbers wouldn't make sense.

She shook her head as she managed to roll herself onto her back. It didn't matter. She and Matches weren't getting out of this place. They'd die before they made it. Hell, she could hardly walk, let alone drag the dead (no, not dead, he wasn't dead) weight of a guy twice her size behind her. Their bodies would rot and be eaten by bugs, just as Goldilocks had intended. That goddamn son of a bitch.

No. The hell if she was gonna let him get away with it. She'd _haunt_ his ass to hell if she had to. Dynamite giggled weakly to herself, then stopped abruptly. It was a creepy sound, high-pitched and unnatural.

She untangled herself from the canvas tarpaulin and slipped it from her shoulders. Her hands trembled as she used her good fingers to painstakingly unscrew the cap of her canteen. "Matches. Water."

He shook his head ever so slightly. "No…"

She winced as she leaned closer. "What?"

"Said…no."

"Don't be stupid," she chided. She awkwardly slid one hand under his head, supporting him with her wrist, then held the canteen to his lips with the other. He managed to take one very small sip, then turned away. "No more."

"Match -"

"You."

She had a mouthful. It was so good, it was all she could do not to guzzle the whole lot. But she had to save it. If they were to keep going, they'd need some for later. She was pleased with her rational thinking, as well as her self-control. "Okay…let's rest a bit. Just a few minutes…"

Matches groaned softly. Dynamite touched the back of her hand gingerly to his face. His skin was covered with a sheen of sweat, but he was cold. Clammy, that was the word. Matches was clammy.

Later she'd be ashamed to admit it, but it grossed her out to touch him. She drew the tarp closer around him, then sat back and crossed her arms over her belly. Her shirt was unpleasantly warm and sticky.

She tried not to think about it.

* * *

"I ended up falling asleep," Nomad admitted. "I have no idea how long we were there. I woke up because I slumped over and my fingers hit the ground."

Psyche Out was looking at her intensely, pen and notepad held loosely in his hands.

"Um. Aren't you supposed to say something psychological?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, brushing blonde hair from his eyes. "So you used anger to spur yourself on?"

She shrugged. "I…guess. I couldn't let the bastard get away with killing my buddies."

"And leaving you for dead?"

"That, too."

Psyche Out leaned back in his chair and stretched. "I see."

She looked at him cautiously. "You see…what?" she pressed.

"Why you use anger as a defence mechanism."

"As a -" Nomad shook her head. "No, no, it's not that. I've always had a quick temper, I…why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I know that you know that I'm right. You're starting to get defensive again."

"I'm not -" She stopped. There was no point arguing, and they both knew it. Psyche Out _was_ right. "Smart ass."

He grinned, then glanced at his watch. "Well, I think that's enough for today. Tell me the rest next time."

Nomad groaned. "There has to be a next time?"

"Well, we're only halfway through." He gave her a pointed look. "And I think it's good for you to talk. Don't you? Don't you feel a little bit better, now?"

Nomad had to admit it, she did. Still, she didn't want the shrink to feel _too_ pleased with himself. "Yeah. Kinda. A little bit." She paused, then smirked. "Fine. I'll come see you again next week. If I'm not too busy."

Psyche Out stood and walked her to the door. She actually liked it when he and Lifeline did that; it was very…gentlemanly. He smiled down at her, and Nomad got the feeling that he could see right through her. He was sneaky like that.

Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, she decided to try and lighten the moment. "Hey, while I'm here, can you tell me why I like to eat Smarties according to colour?"

"No. That's just insane."

"Figures."

"One last thing," he said quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder before she walked out. "Just to satisfy my own curiosity?"

She groaned. "Whaaaat?"

"You never said if you told Goldilocks what he wanted to know. After all he did…did you tell him?"

"I -" She took a deep breath. Out of everything that had happened, this was the thing that really got to her - and probably the most difficult thing to confess.

Nobody, especially not a soldier, liked to admit to being weak. "Yeah. I told him everything."

* * *

Stopping just outside the rec room door, Nomad closed her eyes for a moment, then put on a bright face. As she walked in, a couple of Joes - namely Lady Jaye and Covergirl - pulled crazy faces and twirled their fingers around their ears.

"Stop it, you two," Flint said disapprovingly. Then he smirked. "You shouldn't make fun of crazy people. You never know what they're gonna do next."

Only friends would make fun of something like that. That thought made Nomad feel better instantly. "Thanks, Flint," she said dryly.

Covergirl gestured to the couch beside her. She and Jaye were playing a videogame involving zombies, over-the-top violence and lots of blood. "Wanna play?"

Nomad shook her head. "Nuh-uh. As much as I love shooting zombies, I have another PT with an unnaturally loud Ranger in ten minutes." It was the last day of the double PT week Stalker had given her. She'd opted for two morning sessions today, to get them out of the way and have a Beachhead-free afternoon. The first had been at 6.30. It was now close to 10.00. "Actually, I just came to see if anybody's seen my iPod. I think I left it in here yesterday."

"Is this it?"

_Crunch_.

"Oops…"

Nomad groaned. "That was you, wasn't it, Wildcard?"

"Well…"

Oh, today just kept getting better and better. She turned to see the man with the tattered uniform holding up the iPod - no, make that what was _left_ of the iPod. "That _was _it," she corrected sadly. That iPod had been with her a long time. "Dammit, you're buying me a new one."

"Better just give her the money," Lady Jaye advised, a hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

Nomad held her tongue when she saw the glum expression on Wildcard's face. Poor guy; he broke just about everything he touched. The day she'd met him - he'd returned from leave a couple days after Guatemala - he'd wrecked the radio in one of the brand new VAMPs. Clutch had _not_ been happy.

She took the remains of the iPod from Wildcard's hands. It was crushed. "How'd you manage to break it?" she asked, exasperated. It wasn't like there was much to the little music player: no little bits that stuck out, no battery compartments to open…

"I hardly touched it!" he protested.

She supposed it served her right for leaving the iPod in a stupid place. She sighed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Wildcard. It's probably time I upgraded anyway." She checked her watch. "I'd better get going."

"Hey, remind Beach that I'll meet him for lunch in the PX Snack Bar!" Covergirl called after her.

* * *

Nomad ducked the swipe to her head, but couldn't avoid the paw that grabbed the back of her shirt and almost lifted her off her feet.

"Ah know where ah'm meetin' Covergirl fer gawddamn lunch!" Beachhead thundered. "Get your ass on that obstacle course!"

"But she told me to tell -"

"Now!"

"Yes, sergeant major!" Loudmouthed, stinking, oversized son of a -

"An' after that you can do another ten laps for that thought ah _know_ you were just thinkin'!"

"What? But I -"

"Twenty laps!"

Nomad glared at the Alabama man as she lined up at the start of the course. He ignored her and lifted his stopwatch. "Go!"

She took off, sprinting for the first obstacle: a climbing wall that looked like most of the handholds had been greased.

"An' it's ten pushups fer each time you're tagged by the snipers!"

* * *

"I can't believe you shot me in the butt," Nomad grumbled, punching Sci-Fi on the arm as they headed back to garage number 2.

"Well, I wasn't hardly gonna miss _that _target, was I?" he retorted with a grin.

She looked at him indignantly. "Are you saying my ass is big?"

"No, no! I'm just sayin' -"

"You were watching my ass in your scope?"

As they passed, Clutch, his t-shirt smeared with oil as usual, rolled himself out from under the jeep that he and Rock 'n' Roll were working on. "Hey, I would be too," he said, winking up at her. "That's a nice patch o' blue you got there."

Turning so he couldn't see the bright splash of paint on her rear, she rolled her eyes at him, planted a foot on the trolley he was lying on and kicked him back under the car. "Perv. You just don't know when to quit, do you?" she asked, though she was secretly glad he hadn't stopped hitting on her - especially after she'd shown him the scars.

Most of the Joes knew about those by now. Nomad tried not to talk about them, but - naturally - it seemed like half the Pit had known the day after they got back from Guatemala. The ones who were curious danced around the subject until she got sick of the awkwardness and brought it up herself.

Not Clutch. He'd asked her about them straight out. She'd seriously thought about knocking his teeth down his throat, but had been kind of impressed by his bluntness. Of course, then he'd asked her - jokingly - to lift her shirt a bit more. _Then_ she'd slapped him…but not too hard.

The mechanic rolled himself into view again. "Quit? Nah. Not my style. Hey, me an' Rock 'n' Roll were just about to knock off, why don't we all grab lunch?" He braced his hands against the jeep so she couldn't kick him back under. "C'mon. You never eat with us, you're always hangin' round with the geeks -" He gestured to Sci-Fi, "- and the loners." He then pointed at Lowlight, who'd just walked past. The sniper didn't bother looking over, he just flipped Clutch off.

"Nice," Sci-Fi said, pretending to boot Clutch in the ribs. "How many times have the geeks and the loners saved your ass?"

"How many times have I pulled _yours_ out of a tight spot?" came the immediate response.

Sci-Fi opened his mouth, then conceded the point. "I'll catch you later, Nomad," he said with a chuckle. "Have fun with these bozos." He jogged off to catch up with Lowlight - who'd also tagged her several times with red paint during her obstacle course run. He'd probably make her next target practice extra hard as punishment for not being able to avoid his paintballs.

"What? What if I already had lunch plans? Don't I get a say?"

Clutch stood up and put an arm around her shoulders, effectively clamping her to his side. "Nope, you're stuck with us. Rock 'n' Roll, you almost done?"

The blonde man slammed the hood down and limped around to retrieve his crutches from the back of the jeep. Nomad smirked; she could get even with Rock 'n' Roll for blabbing about her scars by telling Lifeline the surfer wasn't using the crutches as much as he should be. Lifeline would have a fit. "Done. Let's eat."

They headed for the lifts, then Clutch stopped. "Uh…you didn't actually have plans, did you?" he asked, glancing down at Nomad.

"If I did, would I still be putting up with you?"

* * *

Food prep was manned by Heckle and Jeckle, two female greenshirts who were KP regulars. Today Heckle - a tall woman whose last name was Cruiser - had stolen Roadblock's chef's hat and had it perched jauntily on her head. Jeckle, real name Walker, had a 'Kiss the Cook' apron on, above which she'd written 'Don't' and underneath 'or I'll have you up on harassment charges'. She showed this to Clutch, pointing deliberately at him.

"What'd you do _this_ time?" Nomad asked, rolling her eyes at the two. The greenshirts were best friends. They'd enlisted for the Army together, then both had signed up and made it into a greenshirt regiment. That was all she really knew about them - that, and the fact that they were usually playing some kind of minor prank. That's how they'd got their codenames - some bright spark of a Joe had compared them to the mischievous cartoon magpies, and the names had stuck.

Heckle grinned. "Well, it turns out Cross Country doesn't like his music replaced with nineties girl group music." She shrugged. "Go figure."

"He banned us from going anywhere near the Havoc," Jeckle added. She was remarkably short and looked about sixteen, but both she and Heckle were Nomad's age. She gestured to the spread of food. "What'll it be?"

Nomad raised an eyebrow and looked at the two warily. "I'll just grab some sandwiches, I have hand-to-hand later. Don't wanna be weighed down."

Heckle and Jeckle exchanged a glance. "You sure?"

Nomad suddenly doubted her choice and looked at the greenshirts suspiciously. "Why? What'd you do to them?"

"Relax, we didn't do anything. We're not that stupid. Hell, we'd be out like _that _-" Jeckle clicked her fingers, "- if we messed with the food."

Heckle chuckled. "Now, maybe if the _officers_ didn't eat it…"

Jeckle handed out sandwiches as Heckle ladled double helpings of mac and cheese onto the plates Clutch was holding for himself and Rock 'n' Roll. "By the way, don't skip dinner tonight. Chocolate brownies for dessert."

"Made by you?" Clutch asked.

"Well, yeah," Heckle admitted. "But it's okay: you don't mess with chocolate. Ever. And _nobody_ messes with my chocolate brownies."

"On pain of death," Jeckle put in.

Nomad grinned. "Save me one."

"Make that two. No, three, better not forget the walking wounded over there." Clutch tipped his head in Rock 'n' Roll's direction.

"You got it." Heckle waved them on. "Better get movin', here comes the lunchtime rush."

Nomad and Clutch headed back to the table where Rock 'n' Roll was sitting with his injured leg up on a chair.

"Mac an' cheese, good buddy," Clutch announced, putting the plate down with a flourish. "Don't say I never do nothin' for you."

"Yeah, well don't do nothin' again and go get me a nice, cold Yo-Jo Cola?" the surfer dude said with a hopeful grin.

Clutch flapped his hands. "You are just _never_ happy."

"Damn straight I'm not. I'm crippled."

"You really _will_ be crippled in a minute."

Rock 'n' Roll brandished one of the crutches. "Get me my Cola, bitch."

Nomad laughed. "And get me one too."

Clutch gave her a look. She smiled innocently at him.

"Aw, how can I resist that?"

* * *

Storm Shadow was filling in for Snake Eyes in hand-to-hand. Nomad had no idea why - she hadn't seen him since training this morning. Come to think of it, it was odd that Scarlett wasn't filling in for Snakes like she usually did, but she hadn't seen the redhead since this morning either -

Oh.

Storm Shadow paired her - on purpose, she was sure - with Short Fuse. Both she and the other quick-tempered Joe glared at the ninja. "Not a good idea, Storm," Nomad pointed out.

"Deal with it," Storm said bluntly, gesturing to the middle of the dojo. "You're up first. Show me what Snake Eyes has taught you."

With the other Joes standing around the sides of the room and Storm Shadow kneeling around the edges of the mat, Nomad and Short Fuse faced each other. It was customary to bow before sparring - at least, that's what Snakes made them do - but neither she nor Short Fuse did more than slightly incline their heads. From the corner of her eye, she saw Storm roll his eyes, but he said nothing.

Nomad and Short Fuse circled, Nomad bouncing up and down impatiently on the balls of her feet, gloves raised by her face. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

Short Fuse rushed her, one arm circling her waist. As they crashed to the floor, she brought a knee up into his gut and used his own momentum to fling him right over the top of her.

He hit the floor on his back and recovered immediately, latching onto her ankle as she stood and yanking her foot out from beneath her. Even though the floor was padded, her knees jarred when she landed. She didn't have time to complain - he was already dragging her along the floor toward him.

Nomad jerked her leg out of his grip and snapped her foot straight back. She made contact with his chest, then rolled to her feet. He was right behind her, already taking a swing. She ducked aside just in time, feeling the breeze as his fist passed an inch from her face. Unfortunately she didn't notice his other hand until it wrapped around her right wrist and twisted her arm behind her shoulderblades.

She froze. Only for a moment, but that moment was one too many.

Storm Shadow rose to his feet. "That's enough," he said quickly.

Damn ninjas; they noticed everything.

"Grab a drink. Steeler, partner Short Fuse for a while."

Nomad moved to the edge of the room and grabbed her water bottle while Storm gave the others their instructions.

"If that had been a real fight, you'd probably be dead now."

Nomad cursed and wiped at the water she'd dribbled down her front when the ninja spoke right in her ear. "Dammit, Storm!"

He looked at her appraisingly, then his eyes darted to the scar on her right forearm. "You got that when your arm was twisted behind your back."

"Yeah."

"That's why you froze?"

"It's won't happen again. Don't ninja me, I've already been shot in the ass today."

Storm raised an eyebrow. She felt the need to explain before he made any assumptions. "Beach had snipers on the obstacle course."

"Ah." Storm gestured to the mat. "Well, that's not going to get you out of hand-to-hand."

"Dammit."

"Now, has Snake Eyes shown you any chokeholds?"

* * *

Heckle's chocolate brownies were indeed nothing to be messed with. By the time the mess hall was emptying after dinner, every single slice was gone. Nomad, feeling fat, contentedly rested her head on her arms and just listened to the few other Joes at the table chatting.

"Nomad."

She sat up straight as Breaker, popping his ever-present pink gum, approached. "Yeah?"

"Hawk wants to see you, pronto."

The Joes at the table fell silent. Lowlight, sitting beside Nomad, looked up with his blue eyes narrowed.

"What about?" Nomad wondered.

Breaker shrugged. "Dunno. Didn't say. If I was you -"

"- which I bet you're glad you're not," she interrupted with a snigger. For some reason, Lowlight shot her an annoyed glance.

"If I was you, I'd get your shot butt into his office five minutes ago," Breaker finished. He blew another gum bubble. "Hawk don't like to be kept waitin'."

"No shit." Nomad got to her feet. "Does _everyone_ know I got shot in the butt?"

"Pretty much. You know how Sci-Fi likes to brag."

She sighed. "Great." She waved to the table in general. "I'll see you guys later. Hopefully. Thanks, Breaker."

He waved her off and took her seat. Lowlight looked up as she passed behind him. "Want me to go with you?" he asked quietly.

"No, Cooper, I'm fine, thanks."

He didn't protest at her using his real name, but she could feel his eyes on her back as she strode for the mess hall door.

Once it had closed behind her, Nomad puffed her cheeks and let out a long, worried breath. What had Psyche Out told the general? Was she about to be suspended? Or…discharged?

Nah. She wouldn't be sacked. She hadn't done anything wrong lately, had she?

…Well, there _had_ been that thing with Short Fuse in hand-to-hand, but that didn't count. Storm Shadow _did_ asked her to demonstrate a choke hold, after all…

She knocked on the door to Hawk's office, and entered after he called her in.

The general was leaning against his desk. He gestured to the chair beside him. Nomad sat tensely on the edge of it, trying to avoid meeting his eyes and still look polite.

"This isn't disciplinary. You can relax," he said bluntly.

She slumped back in the chair and raised a hand to her eyes. "Oh, thank God for that. I thought maybe Short Fuse - I mean…"

She glanced through her fingers at the general. If he'd taken any notice of that last part, he was choosing to ignore it. "How'd you know that's what I was thinking?"

"Never mind that." Hawk picked up an unsealed envelope from the desk and handed it to her. "You have a mission."

She sat up straighter. "I do? Can I look at this?" She was peeking inside the envelope even as she asked.

He nodded, and she slipped the papers out onto her lap. Hawk explained. "Mainframe got some more intel unscrambled from the Guatemalan Cobra base. Specifically, the whereabouts of…I guess you could call it a Cobra recruitment agency in Manhattan."

Nomad frowned. "Why would they have records of that on a computer in a base in _Guatemala_?"

"He says it's possible it's a false lead, just there to throw us off, or that the computers are linked and share info via intranet -"

"That'd be handy."

"It would. Either way, we need somebody to check it out."

"Okay." She nodded. "So I go to Manhattan and poke around a bit?"

"Exactly." Hawk paused. "I know it hasn't been long since the last mission, but you seem like the best option. None of the higher ranked Cobra officers have seen you before. They'll have no reason to suspect you're a Joe when you sign up to join Cobra."

Nomad looked up at him. "You want me to actually get recruited?"

"And find out who's running the show. Gather as much evidence as you can."

"Am I working alone?"

Hawk shook his head. "We already have a man in the area. I called him as soon as we found out. You haven't met him yet. His name's Chuckles; he's a big man with a personality to match. Likes loud shirts."

Nomad frowned as she scanned the papers. "Oh…really? Medusa? You couldn't have come up with a slightly less unflattering name for me?"

Hawk narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Right. Medusa it is. It's got a nice, snakey ring to it. I like it."

The general pointed. "Read those and memorise your cover story. You'll be issued civilian clothing. Strictly no personal belongings. That means no weapons unless you're issued one by Cobra. Clutch will be waiting 'upstairs' to drive you to the hotel where you'll meet with Chuckles."

Nomad looked at Hawk. "What if I'm found out?"

"Chuckles will go through that with you - he knows the situation there better than I do. If _everything_ goes south, get out of there. Any way you can." Hawk studied her. "This mission could last two days, it could last two months. Could be longer."

She stood up and squared her shoulders defiantly. "I can handle it, Hawk."

"That's what I like to hear." Hawk straightened. "You leave in one hour. Go get ready."

* * *

"Mm-mmm!" Clutch gave an appreciative whistle as Nomad strode grumpily past him. "You should make that your uniform, Nomad. Sure beats the fatigues."

Nomad repressed the urge to tug at the low cut singlet and the extremely short shorts that showed more than they covered. "Clutch, how the hell have you not been up for harassment charges?" she asked, glaring at him.

He unabashedly leaned around to check out her ass again. "It's coz I'm so loveable."

"It's coz kicking you where it hurts is so much more satisfying," Covergirl retorted, swinging her leg back in a rather threatening manner.

"Shut up, Covergirl. This is partly your fault," Nomad grumbled. "If anyone gets to do any kicking, it's me."

Covergirl - as a woman with an interest in fashion - and Lady Jaye, who had experience with covert ops, had been in charge of supplying the civilian clothing for Nomad's new mission. In fact, they'd enjoyed themselves a little too much. They'd seen fit to give her the most impractical - or so Nomad thought - clothes they could find: singlets, impossibly small shorts and…well, actually, she kind of liked the Converse high-tops Lady Jaye had found. Not as much as her combat boots, of course, but the red canvas shoes were better than the life-threateningly high heels Covergirl had tried to give her.

Then there was the underwear. It looked like the small, lacy scraps of material belonged in one of the former model's fashion magazines. Nomad had pointed out quite vehemently that nobody was going to see the undies, so she could keep her own. Lady Jaye had shot that idea down ("Hawk said no 'personal' belongings, right? These aren't personal…not until you've worn 'em!").

Nomad was pretty sure that wasn't what the general had meant, but decided to go along with Jaye. Just in case.

After that, Covergirl, Jaye and Scarlett had put Nomad's hair in lots of tiny braids. If her name was going to be 'Medusa' for the next who knew how long, Nomad figured she might as well look the part.

"You ready?" Clutch asked. The grin that was usually on his face was gone, replaced by the serious look she'd only seen in Guatemala.

She looked around. Covergirl, Scarlett and Lady Jaye were there to see her off, as was Hawk.

"Lowlight doesn't like to say goodbyes before missions," Covergirl said.

Nomad hoped her expression was sufficiently indifferent. "I wasn't looking for Lowlight," she lied. She was actually a little disappointed he wasn't there. "But if you see him, tell him -"

Covergirl smiled brightly. "Tell him what?"

Nomad went blank. "Uh…tell him to get some payback on Sci-Fi for me."

The former model looked disappointed. "That's all?"

"What else would I want to say?"

"Well, there's -"

"Forget I asked," Nomad said quickly, raising her hands.

Clutch grabbed Nomad's bag. "C'mon, we gotta get goin'."

Nomad waved to the three women and saluted Hawk, then jogged to catch up with the mechanic as he headed for the personnel lift. "We're not taking a VAMP?"

He shook his head. "Well, you wouldn't be very undercover if you turned up in a Joe vehicle, now, would you?"

"But Hawk said you're driving."

"I am. We're takin' _my_ car." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a set of keys and jingled them in front of her face.

Once they were outside, Nomad stopped. "We're going in _that_ thing?"

She stared at the old car - which looked like it was made up from parts of several other old cars - parked just outside the garage.

Clutch glared at her. "She's a '74 Barracuda. This baby's a piece of art!"

"What kind of art, abstract?"

Clutch stroked the roof of the car as he opened the door and tossed Nomad's bag unceremoniously into the back seat. "Don't listen to her, sweetheart, she's just jealous."

"Oh, God." Nomad rolled her eyes. "Alright, Clutch, I won't offend your…car."

"Good."

"But I still think the VAMP'd draw less attention."

* * *

After ten minutes of driving in uneasy silence, Clutch looked sideways at her. "So."

She looked back. He had that serious expression on again. She liked him better when he was grinning, smug though it made him look. "So what?"

"So," he said patiently, "we've got some time to chat."

Nomad groaned. "I'm not really -"

"C'mon, Nomad. I'm not sayin' you gotta tell me your life story. I was just kinda hopin' you'd maybe offer somethin' bout yourself for once, rather than me havin' to try and get it outta you."

"I tell you guys plenty," Nomad said lamely.

Clutch gave a laugh. "You change the subject whenever we start askin'. Yeah, we've all noticed."

They had? Nobody had said anything…"Yeah? Well, maybe I've got nothing to tell."

The driver snorted. "Nothin' to tell, my ass. Those scars on your stomach didn't just appear overnight." He held up one hand before she could protest. "I'm just sayin'. We all get you've been through somethin' bad, but that don't mean you have to keep _everythin_' a secret, you know."

She raised an eyebrow. It was a little strange to hear Clutch, of all people, telling her this. She turned to look back out the window at the other cars flashing past, then looked back at him. His eyes were fixed on the road. It didn't seem like he was going to say anything else. That was a first.

But then again, she didn't want him angry with her just before she was about to go on a mission that might last a long time. "Remember in the C-130, I said you reminded me of somebody I used to know?"

He snuck a quick look at her, not completely hiding his look of surprise. "Yeah? The ex?"

She laughed quietly. "He wasn't an ex, just a good friend. His codename was Hotshot. He was a sniper. Awesome on night ops. He was on my old team."

"Can't help but notice a lot of 'was' in there," Clutch pointed out grimly.

"He was killed in action. Same mission that went wrong and I got cut up."

Nomad suddenly chuckled to herself, then waved dismissively at Clutch as he turned to her questioningly. If she was going to voluntarily tell anyone anything, she'd thought it would be Covergirl, Jaye or Scarlett. Hell, even Lowlight, but never Clutch. "Hotshot used to flirt with any girl he saw, too."

"Hey, I don't flirt with _any_ girl," Clutch protested.

She looked at him sceptically.

"Sometimes I just like to look."

Nomad laughed. "You're hopeless."

They both fell silent again, then Clutch laughed. "How 'bout you tell me your first name next?"

"No."

Another few minutes of silence passed. "So…" Clutch said again.

"Yeah?"

"Your old team…how come they didn't help you when…"

Nomad leaned her head back on the seat. Well, she'd started. Might as well finish. "They were all dead by that time." Matches hadn't been, but he'd never really had a chance.

Clutch swore. "You mean -" He broke off, then cursed again.

"I barely made it out. I'd appreciate it if you didn't go telling anyone this."

Clutch shook his head. "Hey, I might razz you every now an' then -"

"'Now and then'? Try all the time, grease monkey."

"- but I'm not a _complete_ ass."

Things were about to get awkward again. Time for diversionary tactics. "You know what?" she asked brightly. "This is depressing. Let's turn the radio on."

"I hear that," Clutch agreed, reaching forward.

* * *

"…_whoa, oh, oh, oooooh, sweet love of mine…_"

Clutch pulled the car over outside the hotel. They both stopped their (terrible) singing and he turned the radio down.

"I guess this is my stop, huh?" Nomad asked. It was a shame; she'd been having fun.

"This is it," Clutch agreed. He reached over the back and grabbed her bag, but didn't let go when she tried to take it. He held her eyes. "Listen. You be careful, you hear?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, mother."

"I'm serious. Watch your back. I don't wanna have to drag the dress greens out just for your funeral."

"Touching," she said dryly. Then she softened a little. "I'll be careful." She opened the door and stepped out.

"What, no goodbye kiss?"

"See you later, Clutch."

Crude though he may be, he waited until she was safely inside the hotel before driving off - though from the looks of it, she'd be just as safe on the street as she would inside. Nomad watched through the door until she couldn't tell which taillights belong to the Barracuda, then turned and strode to the reception desk.

Oh, gross. She shook her head. The desk was covered with papers, pens were scattered everywhere, and there were coffee rings staining the surface. There was a mousetrap in clear view behind the barstool which served as the office chair.

_Her_ desk had never been in such a horrible condition…and whenever she'd spilled her coffee she'd cleaned it up straight away...but this wasn't the time for it. She shook her head again, as if to clear out any distracting thoughts.

She rang the bell, and an older woman with too much makeup on appeared in her own sweet time. She smelled of cigarettes. "Yeah?"

Nomad raised an eyebrow. "I'm here to see a man called -"

"The big blonde guy?" The woman looked her up and down. "He said somebody would show up lookin' for him. You the night's entertainment?"

Nomad couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Unfortunately, she couldn't hit the woman. It would just add another point to Psyche Out's list of 'Reasons to Suspend Nomad'. She gritted her teeth and played along, figuring at least it'd get her to Chuckles. "So what if I am? You gonna tell me which room he's in? The more hours I get in, the more I get paid, you know?"

"Three twenty six. Try not to be too loud, huh? Or messy." The woman looked Nomad up and down. "Good luck. You're gonna need it."

And with that, she disappeared.

Nomad took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. She avoided the elevator and climbed the stairs instead, giving herself a little extra time to simmer down. It was only a couple of flights, but the light exercise was helpful.

Room 326 was at the very end of the hall, as far from the elevator and stairwell as was possible. Nomad knocked on the door nervously.

"Who's there?" came a low voice from inside.

"Name's Medusa," she replied quietly. "A little bird told me I'd find some snakes around here somewhere." She felt stupid saying it, but that's what her orders had been. She wasn't about to question them. She was past that. Hopefully.

There was a brief pause, then she heard the rattle of the chain, the deadbolt turning, and the door opened.

Nomad peered up. "Wow."

The blonde man wasn't just big, he was close to Roadblock status. The Hawaiian shirt he wore was white with bright pink flowers on it.

Chuckles looked down at her, then stepped aside to let her in. "You weren't followed?"

"No. Seriously, who would _willingly_ come here?" she replied as he closed the door after her. "You know, the receptionist called me 'tonight's entertainment'? I _knew_ I shouldn't have let Covergirl choose my clothes…oh, god, don't tell Clutch, I'll never hear the end of it."

Chuckles…well, he chuckled. "Hawk was right."

She frowned. "Right about what?"

He shook his head and waved her off. "Nomad, right? The name's Chuckles, but I bet you already knew that. I hear you joined the Joe team a few weeks ago."

"Yeah. This is my second mission." She unzipped her bag and searched around for a bit, then pulled out the envelope Hawk had given her, now sealed and slightly crumpled. "Here's the copies of my orders."

Chuckles took it, then gestured over his shoulder. "Make yourself at home. Bedroom's back there; I'll take the couch."

Nomad eyed him, then compared his size to that of the couch. The two didn't seem compatible. "I don't mind taking the couch -" she offered.

Again, he waved a hand at her. "Go put your stuff away and get settled. Then we need to go over these orders and work out a plan of attack for tomorrow."


	10. Chapter Nine

Argh. This chapter...argh. Bane of my existence for the last week.

Okay, maybe it's not _quite_ that drastic...but it still annoyed the hell out of me. I just came up blank every time I tried to write more. So...it's short. Very short. For some reason, I always feel guilty when I write short chapters. Is that weird?

Oh well. I have some ideas for the next chapter. Hopefully it'll be better.

As always, thanks all for the reviews, they make my day!

* * *

As Nomad and Chuckles stepped out of the elevator, the heavily-made-up woman from last night looked up from the computer at the desk. Without warning, the big man slipped his arm around Nomad's waist, pulled her close and gave her rear a robust slap. She winced a little - it was the side Sci-Fi had shot, and she already had a bruise from the paintball.

She suspected she might now have a handprint, as well.

Chuckles glanced over her head at the woman and winked. "Took a huge chunk out of my wallet, but it was worth it."

He hadn't mentioned he was going to do _that_ when he'd told her to keep her cover. Nomad groaned inwardly and resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs - though her arm did twitch slightly. Instead, she wrapped both arms around him. "Best night of his life," she said, winking.

The woman said nothing, just kept staring, apparently unable to believe their audacity. Both waving, Chuckles and Nomad walked out of the hotel.

Once they were out of the woman's sight, Nomad shrugged him off and glared at him indignantly. "What the hell was that?"

He gave her an even look. "Unexpected things happen. You need to be able to deal with them when you're undercover. You did good, thought fast. That's what you're gonna have to do; stay sharp and keep two steps ahead of everyone else."

"Yeah, I get that, but I haven't even _started_ yet."

She almost ran into him as he abruptly stepped in front of her. "You started when you got out of Clutch's car last night," he corrected firmly. "And you won't stop until you get back to the Pit. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes, s -" She glanced sideways as somebody walked past her. "We're clear."

"Alright."

She and Chuckles continued walking. The Cobra building was only a few blocks away.

The plan they'd come up with last night was simple. Nomad would infiltrate the recruitment agency while Chuckles kept up surveillance from a coffee shop across the street and half a block down. She'd check in with him twice a day – personally in the mornings at 0830, on the pretence of getting her daily caffeine fix ("No problems there, Chuckles, I take it black and strong."), and again at 2030 in the evenings via the prepaid cell phone she'd been issued at HQ. The phone itself was virtually untraceable, but she'd still have to be very careful using it - remember to use cash to renew the credit when it ran out, to make sure she wasn't overheard, to make sure she didn't text anything too obvious to Chuckles.

She peeked sideways at him. She had to admit, she was glad he was there and was going to stick around, even though her wouldn't be right in there with her.

"Hey." Chuckles nudged her and gestured. "See Turner and Hooch on the corner, there?"

Nomad glanced up to see a guy with a dog just ahead of them. "Yeah?"

"They're ours, too."

"Joes? Please tell me their names aren't actually Turner and Hooch."

"Nah. That's Law. The dog's name's Order."

She grimaced. "I don't know which is worse."

Chuckles grinned broadly. "They're our backup. You see that dog running at you, you hit the dirt and let Law 'arrest' you, and make it look good. Stop and ask if you can pet the dog."

Law and Order were standing outside a bookstore, the man casually leaning against the wall and the dog sitting by his side, tongue hanging out.

"Aw, he's cute," Nomad exclaimed, grinning. "Is it okay if I pat him?"

"Sure," Law said, nodding, "go ahead and scratch behind his ears, he loves it."

Nomad held her hand out. Order sniffed her warily, then stood and wagged his tail vigorously. Always a sucker for a furry friend, Nomad knelt down and indulged the dog as Chuckles and Law talked in low voices over her head. She listened to what they were saying, but they really just sounded like they were old friends who'd run into each other by chance. She assumed Law knew what was going on, somehow - maybe Hawk had called him, too.

"So," Law said eventually, also kneeling to scratch the dog's back. "Just moved into a new house, huh?"

She figured he meant the Pit. "Yeah. Three weeks ago."

"How're you finding it."

"I'm getting used to it," she said with a grin. "It's not quite what I'm used to."

Law grinned. "I'll bet." He stood and shook Chuckles' hand. "Good to see you again, old buddy."

"You, too." Chuckles beckoned to Nomad. "Come on. We don't want to be late."

"Hey," Law called after them, "you need anything, just call, alright?"

"He's talking to you," Chuckles advised.

She nodded and waved back at him.

"Alright," Chuckles said, once they'd turned the corner. "The building's a few blocks down this street. Law did a walk by, it's called Robac and Co."

"Robac?" Nomad rolled her eyes. "That's not obvious at all."

"Not to the taxpayers," Chuckles agreed. "It's true, Cobra aren't very creative. But at least they didn't use Arbco again."

Arbco; that was the name Cobra regularly used as a cover. They had a few others; mostly anagrams or foreign words for Cobra, serpent, or some other snake-related word.

"Nervous?"

She was. Once she was in the Cobra building, she was on her own. _She'd_ be calling the shots - there was no commanding officer to tell her what to do. "Honestly? Yeah."

"Good. It'll keep you on your toes. Just remember, if somebody starts questioning you, turn around and pin the blame on somebody else."

They walked two more blocks in silence. The building wasn't far away. Nomad was starting to feel the familiar pre-mission buzz. "What if it doesn't work?"

"Don't freak out on me now, kiddo. It'll work. You read the orders and the profile Psyche Out made of the average snake, and you have that cell number Hawk provided, as well. They have no reason to suspect you."

Nomad gave him a doubtful look.

"You'll be fine."

They stopped outside the coffee shop Chuckles was using for cover. "You're on your own from here," he said. "Remember, you're there to get information, not to pick fights. Keep your head down and be a good little snakepuss. And make sure you check in on time, otherwise I have to call it in to Hawk. I can't blow my cover to help you."

"What happens if you have to call Hawk?" she asked curiously.

"He either puts a team together to storm the joint or sends in one of the spooks, and God help you if you were late just because your phone died, or something."

From the look on his face, Nomad was sure it wasn't just the General who'd kick her ass if she didn't have a good reason for not checking in on time. "I should get going."

He nodded and clapped her on the shoulder. "Good luck."

She walked the rest of the way down the block and stopped once she was opposite the Cobra building. A small, nondescript sign halfway up the door did indeed read 'Robac and Co.', but apart from that, there was nothing to indicate what the business actually was. The windows and door had dusty louvre blinds that were all closed. It was the kind of building that you could walk past every day and not take any notice of: perfect for a terrorist organisation looking to recruit new troops.

Nomad waited for a gap in the traffic, then ran across the road. She tried the door - half hoping it was locked - and it opened with a tinkling of bells.

"I'm tellin' ya, Buzzer, nobody's gonna come! Why don't we jus' shut up shop an' go get some chocolate covered donuts an' grape soda? I'm bored!"

"Shut up, you moron! Look!"

The foyer was gloomy, with only a couple of the dusty, bare bulbs that hung from the roof working. There was a desk at the far end of the room, where a man with a blonde ponytail sat with his feet up. He had mirrored sunglasses on even though he was inside. To the left, another man with a lot of red hair and a beard sat in a small, uncomfortable-looking chair. Both wore cheap, ill-fitting suits.

The redhead had to be Torch. The other was, obviously, Buzzer - who was apparently fairly intelligent, by Dreadnok standards. Nomad almost grinned, unable to believe her luck. She'd been worried she'd be turned away before she even got started, but she was certain she could outwit these two.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, trying to remember what she'd read about the Dreadnoks, Nomad strode right up to the desk.

Buzzer looked her up and down. "Can I help you?" He spoke with a hybrid English/Australian accent. Torch and the rest of the Dreadnoks were Australian. They worked for Zartan, a man who in turn worked for Cobra Commander…when it suited him.

That was something she had to remember: Cobra troops only look out for number one.

She decided to go with bluntness and returned Buzzer's stare evenly. "I want to sign up for Cobra."

Buzzer sat up so quickly he almost fell off his chair. Torch guffawed, but fell silent as the blonde man glared at him.

"Now, what's a nice girl like you wanna go and do that for?" Buzzer asked, straightening his sunglasses.

"Aw, I betcha she dun' even know what Cobra is," Torch said dismissively. "Jus' heard it somewheres, didja, girlie?"

Nomad smiled condescendingly at them both. "My uncle said I could join."

Buzzer gave a derisive laugh. "Oh, well if your _uncle_ said you could join, I guess we should just let you!"

"You should," she said. "He's a Crimson Guardsman."

Buzzer paled. "A Crimson Guardsman?"

Nomad nodded. "I have his phone number, do you want to call him and check my story?"

She _did_ have a number, and technically it _did_ belong to a Siegie - a Crimson Guardsman, one of Cobra Commander's elite squad of soldiers. It belonged to a man named Wade Collins. He had some connection to Stalker, Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow from back when they'd been in the army together, or something like that. Hawk had told her what she needed to know - the back story wasn't included.

Wade Collins no longer worked for Cobra. For a time, he had been one of what was known as the 'Fred series' - men who'd had plastic surgery and given up their pasts for Cobra. The had families, jobs, pets…essentially, they were the perfect undercover agent. They all looked identical so that one could replace another at any given time. Wade Collins - also known as Fred II - had at one point been stationed just outside the motor pool on Staten Island. Something had happened between him, Stalker and Snakes to change his mind about Cobra.

"Uh…" Buzzer glanced at Torch, who shrugged. "Nah, I don't that'll be necessary."

Of course it wouldn't - because that would mean more work. Not that Nomad was complaining.

She leaned her elbows on the desk, hunching her shoulders forward slightly. "And I don't have to fill in any annoying application forms, or anything? I really _hate_ paperwork."

"M-me too," Buzzer stammered. His head wasn't tilted up to meet her eyes - even though she couldn't see his eyes through the sunglasses, she knew he was staring at her cleavage.

Well, at least Covergirl's skimpy singlet came in handy for _something_. "Do me a favour, huh? I'll pay it back, someday…"

He glanced sideways at Torch. "Well…I reckon I saw ya fill in that paperwork…somebody musta just lost it somewhere, right, Torch?"

"Uh…right, Buzzer. Whateva you say, mate." Torch was looking at her ass; she could see him in Buzzer's glasses. Nomad shifted her weight onto her other foot, feeling absolutely filthy.

She forced a smile. "Sounds good to me."

"Alright, girlie, what's your name?"

"Medusa."

"And why exactly do you wanna join Cobra?"

Nomad paused. "Uncle Fred got hurt a little while ago. Some guy called…what was it again? Some kind of bird…"

"Hawk?" Torch suggested.

She clicked her fingers, smiling at him. "Hawk! That's it. This guy, Hawk, he shot my uncle. Left him in hospital for weeks." She let her expression turn dark; it was easy enough, faced with two Dreadnoks. "I wanna get some payback."

Buzzer looked at her thoughtfully. "Righto. I don't see no problems. Do you, Torch?"

"Nope. 'Specially not if 'er uncle's a Siegie."

"Good. Take her up to see Zarana." Buzzer smiled at her. "Welcome to Cobra, luv."

Nomad tried not to shudder. Instead, she smiled back, then followed Torch to the elevator.

Zarana - Zartan's sister - was on the floor above, keeping watch as a group of blue-uniformed Cobra troops manned a bank of computers.

Nomad stifled a snort. The woman's hair really _was _bubblegum pink.

"What?" Zarana snapped impatiently, turning as Torch called her name. "This better be good, Torch, I'm - who're you?"

"I'm your newest recruit," Nomad said, filling her voice with confidence she didn't really feel.

"'Er uncle's a Siegie," Torch added helpfully.

The pink-haired woman studied Nomad. "Oh, yeah? What number?"

Nomad shrugged. "Fucked if I know," she said dismissively. "He didn't tell me that. But I'm gonna kill the guy who shot him."

"That was Hawk," Torch put in.

"Torch, go back downstairs. Go get some grape soda, or something."

"And donuts?"

"Whatever. Just lock the door after you."

Torch, grinning broadly, made a beeline for the elevator. Nomad turned back to Zarana expectantly. "So, who's this Hawk?"

Zarana looked at her a moment longer. "How'd you find out about the Crimson Guard?" she asked suspiciously.

Nomad sighed inwardly. The woman wasn't going to be duped as easily as the Dreadnoks. "It's kind of hard to hide a bullet hole," she said bluntly. "Speaking of which…I want to put one in Hawk. That's the only reason I signed up." She paused. "I'll do anything, Zarana. Nobody hurts my family and gets away with it."

Zarana grinned. "Don't worry, you'll get your chance. What's your name?"

"Medusa. Hey, do I get a snazzy blue uniform like that?"

* * *

Nomad was shown to the barracks she'd share with the other female troops. As in G.I Joe, women were outnumbered in Cobra.

She would begin her induction here, then - if she performed according to Cobra's standards - she'd be sent to one of the bigger training facilities. Hopefully, she could find what she needed before it came to that. Of course, she'd have to hold back a little…or a lot, depending on how hopeless the other inductees were.

Then again, Nomad could probably out-perform the troops who'd been with Cobra for years. Still, she couldn't let anyone suspect she'd had proper military training.

"Here's your uniform."

She glanced up to see a woman holding out the standard blue Cobra clothes. "Thanks. I'm Medusa."

"Mills. They gave you a nickname already?"

"No, I got it somewhere else." Nomad held the uniform against her. "Does it suit me?"

"They're not the most flattering, but I think you can make it work." Mills tugged at the red mask that would usually cover the lower half of her face. "Get changed. I'm supposed to take you to the firing range."

Nomad brightened. "Do I get my own gun?"

"If you're any good. You ever fired a gun before?"

You bet I have. "No. Never."

* * *

The targets were Joes. They actually had life-size cardboard cut-outs of Joes for target practice on the firing range.

Well…in training, the Joes occasionally brought out dummies resembling the top cadre of Cobra…but that was completely different.

Actually, no it wasn't. Nomad was just biased.

"Which one's Hawk?" she asked immediately, gesturing to the targets. "He's mine."

Zarana handed her a .45. Nomad held it clumsily until the pink-haired woman sighed and impatiently corrected her grip, then pointed at the Hawk cut-out.

"That's him?"

Zarana nodded. "Point that end at the target and pull the trigger."

It wasn't quite that simple, but Nomad nodded. She held her arms straight out in front of her, elbows locked, planted her feet wide and pulled the trigger. The round, of course, went nowhere near the target. "Oops."

Zarana beckoned another troop over, who proceeded to show Nomad how to fire a gun properly. She sent another few rounds flying past the cardboard Hawk for show, then - feeling slightly guilty - shot him in the chest.

She varied the accuracy of her shots, from pinpoint to completely off-the-mark. By the time she was done, Hawk looked like Swiss cheese. They got her another couple of targets to practice on - Scarlett, and - Nomad had to stifle a giggle - Chuckles. She allowed herself one headshot, just for the slap on the ass he'd given her.

Zarana was suitably impressed. "Not bad. You learn pretty quick. I think we mighta found ourselves a competent trooper, for a change. Let's see how you fight."

* * *

"_So_?"

Nomad glanced around cautiously, but nobody was up on the roof with her, and she couldn't see any cameras. She held the cell phone to her ear and spoke quietly. "I'm in."

"_Good work._" Chuckles sounded somewhat relieved to hear from her._ "Have you seen anyone important_?"

Nomad wasn't sure if Dreadnoks ranked as 'important', but she told him anyway. "They had Buzzer and Torch, in reception. They were easy enough to get by. Zarana's in charge of the training. Their program's got _nothing_ on ours. I had firing practice and hand-to-hand. Did you know they have a cardboard cut-out of you?"

"_I'm honoured_." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in the big man's voice.

"Sorry. It's just…this is weird."

"_You better get used to it. Any sign of anyone else_?"

"Not yet. This place is mainly basic training; you pass here, you get shipped out to the next place."

"_You have to stay there as long as you can._"

"I _know_ that. I'm gonna see if I can get in Zarana's good books, maybe move up the ranks a bit quicker. Look, I have to go, I told 'em I needed to go to the bathroom."

"_Check in tomorrow I'll have your coffee nice and hot for you._"

"Deal."

Nomad ended the call and hurried back inside. There was a presentation going on for the newest Cobra recruits. It wouldn't do to skip it - there were only six newbies, after all, and she'd definitely be missed. And anyway…it might prove useful.


	11. Chapter Ten

Ah, another chapter, and I can still quite honestly say I have no idea where this is going. Although, I _did_ actually think about brainwashing - the comic book I'm up to is the one where Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll pass out because they couldn't kill those two girls. But I decided against it. Maybe next time :D

In other news, I do have another idea that just won't go away. Has anyone seen Stephen King's 'Rose Red'? It's a haunted house movie. I watched it the other day and couldn't help but think about the Joes trapped in a house full of nasty ghosties and ghoulies. Or a hotel...'The Shining', anyone?

Yes, I like bad horror movies, too.

* * *

"It's Buzzer, isn't it? Yeah? Alright." Nomad crossed her arms. "Look, Buzzer. I'm going to make this clear: I am _not_ a morning person. Now, you can either let me out for fifteen minutes so I can get a decent cup of coffee, or I can castrate you. _Yes_, I am serious."

Nomad paused, tapping her foot impatiently. It was getting awfully close to 8.30. "Well?"

"I already done you a favour yesterday," the Dreadnok pointed out grumpily. "Troops aren't s'posed to leave the building."

Nomad gave a small laugh and shook her head, smiling. "This isn't a favour, Buzzer. This is life and death. Specifically _yours_, if I don't get my caffeine soon."

"I -"

When she glared at him Buzzer shook his head, apparently deciding that trying to stop her wasn't worth the bodily harm, and moved aside. She stalked past without another word and slammed the door behind her.

Nomad checked her watch. 8.28. Two minutes to cross the street and walk halfway down the block…no, she wouldn't walk. She'd jog. She'd _sprint_ if she had to - either way, she was going to make that check in. Several car horns honked at her as she dashed across the road.

Chuckles looked up expectantly as soon as the door opened. She could tell by the way his jaw clenched and unclenched and his eyes flicked to the clock on the wall (which read 8.30 exactly) that he wasn't impressed. She approached the counter.

Chuckles had done away with the Hawaiian shirt today, and was instead wearing a plain black t-shirt and work pants. Several of the women in the shop were glancing appreciatively at him.

"You took your time," he accused. His voice didn't match his expression - he was smiling at her like she was just another customer.

"I wasn't late," she pointed out.

"I told you -"

"I know, I know. I'll allow for dealing with morons next time." She dug around in her pocket and slapped some change onto the bench. "Would you make me a coffee? Please?"

Chuckles busied himself at the machine, looking for all the world like he belonged there instead of in a top secret anti-terrorist organisation. He scrutinised her. "You look tired."

"I didn't sleep well." She grinned. "But that's nothing new for me."

It had been a rough night, but not for the usual reasons; she'd found it hard to sleep surrounded by people who she'd come to think of as 'the enemy'. She'd dozed fitfully, waking at the slightest sound - a soft snore, a cough, Mills mumbling quietly in the bunk overhead. Eventually Nomad got up, headed to the cafeteria and grabbed a knife, then snuck back to the barracks and hid it under her pillow. She felt a little better after that - but not much.

"What'd you get up to?"

"Not much. Just watched a presentation." She leaned closer. "They get _awesome_ health cover. Dental's included. _And_ life insurance!"

Chuckles looked up sharply. "What kind of presentation was it? How do you feel?"

"Fine. Why?" Nomad asked, puzzled, and then it clicked. "Oh, you think they - no, no, it was just your normal 'welcome aboard' presentation." She lowered her voice. "I think the brainwashing comes after."

"That's not funny," he growled. "Here's your coffee."

"Thank God." Nomad took a sip, then almost spat it out. "What the hell is this?"

"Decaf."

"What? Why? Why would you do that to me?" She thrust the cup toward him. "Take it back and give me _real_ coffee."

Chuckles grinned. "No copy on that, kiddo. Doctor's orders. Steen left a note in your folder."

"Steen?" She had to think for a moment before she remembered Lifeline's real name - Edwin (snigger) Steen. "He's not even a real doctor! He's just a med - a paramedic!"

"Close enough in my book."

Nomad scowled. "I swear to God, I am going to kill that pain in the ass -"

"Okay, relax." Chuckles grabbed the decaf from her hand and returned to the coffee machine to make her another. "Don't tell Steen, alright?"

"I won't if you won't."

Chuckles pressed the new cup into her hand. "Here's your real coffee."

"Thanks. I'll see you later."

* * *

Nomad, now ready for a day of espionage, strode back into 'Robac and Co.' as if she owned the place.

"Where have you been?"

It scared the hell out of her, but she managed not to jump. She turned to see Zarana glaring at her, arms folded. "I needed to go for a walk," she answered coolly.

"You're not supposed to leave the building. Where did you go?"

Nomad pointed in the opposite direction to Chuckles' coffee shop. "I went to get a coffee. A _decent_ coffee. You don't want me going out, you tell whoever's in charge here to stop skimping with the shitty coffee and get some good stuff."

Zarana frowned suspiciously at her.

"Come on, I was only gone fifteen minutes. I don't feel human unless I've had my morning caffeine fix." Nomad paused. "Anyway, didn't I prove yesterday that I'd be good in Cobra?"

"Maybe. That doesn't mean I trust you, though."

"I'll make a deal with you. You let me get my coffee in the morning, and I'll watch your back. I hear anything shady from the other troops, I'll let you know."

"You'll sell them out for coffee?" Zarana asked.

Nomad shook her head and smiled wickedly. "Don't think of it as selling anyone out. It's more…weeding out the ones who don't deserve to be here."

Zarana gave her a calculating look. "Alright. C'mon," she said, heading for the stairs. "I've got some files for you and the rest of the trainees to read. If you're gonna be a Cobra trooper, you're gonna have to know who the enemy is."

* * *

The first real shock of the day came an hour and a half after Nomad sat down at her computer.

She and the other recruits had been going over Joe files. Nomad, of course, didn't have access to the Joes' files back at the Pit. She'd already learned a few real names she hadn't known before - she was definitely going to hang some shit on Hector 'Shipwreck' Delgado - but apart from that, she was trying not to read anything too important.

Still, things kept popping out at her - like the fact that Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll had once been captured and brainwashed by Cobra.

Neither of the men had mentioned that. Then again, she guessed it wasn't really something that they'd share. And now she felt guilty again; she wasn't the only one who bad stuff had happened to…

Mills was sitting beside her. The woman had been a recruit for one week longer than Nomad, and they genuinely got along well - under other circumstances, they could have been friends. She was going through files, occasionally commenting on how cute one of the Joes was or on some incident that had happened involving a Joe - like when Scarlett had been shot in the head by the Baroness. Nomad grunted noncommittally, not wanting to say too much about anything Joe-related in case she accidentally let something slip.

"Check this guy out," Mills said. Nomad pulled herself out of her thoughts just in time to see the Cobra recruit giving an appreciative nod to Storm Shadow's mugshot. "Says he's a ninja."

Oh, you have no idea. "Ninja? Yeah, right," Nomad said derisively.

"No, seriously! 'Extremely dangerous, not to be approached. Shoot on sight'." Mills sighed. "Shame he's one of the bad guys." She paused, leaning closer to the screen. "Hey, check it out. He used to work for us!"

"What?" Nomad - who was half-reading what Cobra had to say about Deep Six (which, not surprisingly, wasn't much) started and rolled her chair closer.

Mills pointed. "There."

Nomad read the paragraph quickly. "He worked for Cobra Commander!"

"Until he defected and joined the Joes." Mills scowled. "Traitor."

Nomad pulled Stormy's file up on her own computer and quickly found the paragraph again. Storm Shadow? Working for Cobra? Why hadn't anybody told her? Surely that was something that -

"Medusa?"

"Huh?"

"You okay?" Mills was looking at her strangely.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Nomad said, trying to keep her voice light as she waved dismissively. She clicked on the next file. "Hey, check this guy out."

"'Airtight'? Seriously, who comes up with these names?"

* * *

Nomad pulled her mask down around her neck and took a deep breath. The bottom half of her face felt hot and sweaty. She found it hard to breath with the material over her nose; she didn't know how the Cobra troops could stand wearing them - or how Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow could stand wearing their masks. _Or_ how Beach could wear that damned balaclava.

She sat at one of the tables in the cafeteria, a tray of food - not as good as anything Roadblock could serve up, but still pretty good - and a can of Cobra Cola in front of her. She cracked the can open and took a sip.

Not as good as Yo-Jo Cola.

Nomad and the other recruits had just come from another presentation. Remembering what Chuckles had suspected about brainwashing, Nomad hadn't paid very much attention to tonight's film; she'd sat behind the other five new recruits and leaned her head in her hands, surreptitiously blocking her ears while looking at a mark on the wall beneath the projector screen.

"That Broca Beach looks like a real nice place to live," Mills said, pulling out the chair next to Nomad and flopping down on it. "I'm gonna put my name down for there."

A few of the other troops nodded their agreement.

Nomad shook her head. "I'd prefer Cobra Island."

"You wanna go hang with the big shots, huh?" one of the other troops asked. Nomad couldn't remember his name, but he was an arrogant son of a bitch who thought he was better than the rest of them. It didn't help her mood that she'd let him beat her in hand-to-hand this afternoon.

Tomorrow, she'd show him. She'd go Joe on his snake ass.

"At least I've got a chance, unlike you," she retorted.

The guy stood up, trying to use his size to intimidate her. It didn't work - not when he wouldn't have even come up to Roadblock's chin. "Sit down," she said, disdainfully. "I've got better things to waste my time on." She grabbed her Cobra Cola can and her plate. "I'm gonna go eat up on the roof."

Mills stood up. "I'll come too -"

"Actually, I'd rather eat on my own," Nomad said quickly. "No offence. Just need some 'me' time." She left before Mills or anyone else could protest.

She made a detour to her locker to grab her phone first, then climbed the steps to the roof. She scouted the roof for Cobras or cameras, then called Chuckles.

"_Hey_."

"Hey."

"_Everything okay_?"

"Everything's fine. Had another presentation, but I didn't watch it and I blocked my ears."

"_Good. Keep that up if there's any more of those._"

Nomad nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Uh…" She hesitated, wondering how to phrase what she really wanted to ask, then decided to just blurt it out. "How come nobody ever told me Storm worked for Cobra?"

There was a long pause. "_It's Stormy's business, not anyone else's._"

"He worked for the enemy and nobody thought it something I might need to know? Dammit, Ch -"

"_Hey!_" Chuckles snapped at her. "_From what I've heard, he's not the only one with secrets. You might wanna remember that."_

Nomad didn't say what she was thinking for fear that Chuckles might poison her coffee the next morning. He was right, though; she was in no position to judge. "Alright, I'm sorry. It just might have been nice to know, instead of having it sprung on me by these guys."

She heard Chuckles sigh. "_I'll give you that. Just so you know, Storm had his reasons. That's all I'm gonna say; you have a problem with it, you take it up with him."_

Yeah, right. Like she was going to pick a fight with a ninja.

"_Have you got anything new for me_?"

"Not yet. Zarana's gonna let me out for coffee in the mornings if I watch her back and tell her if there's any dissent amongst the ranks."

"_That's good, but you watch your back as well. You're probably not the only one who's made that kinda deal with her._"

"I'll be careful."

Chuckles hung up without even saying goodbye. "Yeah, nice talking to you, too."

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, Nomad slowly gained Zarana's…well, it wasn't quite trust, and it probably never would be, but it was a kind of respect. She'd dedicated herself to her 'training' - often taking more practice sessions than was required - and was, naturally, among the best of all the troops in the Cobra recruiting agency. She didn't know how many Hawk cut-outs she'd destroyed in target practice.

She still felt guilty every time she put a round into a Joe target. There had been one frightening moment, in the first week, when she'd claimed the Clutch target for her own. The only problem was, nobody had ever mentioned Clutch's name. Nomad had to scrabble for a story, and eventually just said she remembered the name from his file.

Believe it or not, she missed Clutch.

Neither Zarana nor the Dreadnoks questioned her when she went out in the mornings. After that first day, Nomad had gone to a coffee shop in the opposite direction and bought a coffee from that place instead. When she got her coffee from Café Chuckles (as she thought of it), she now poured it into the other cup and sat drinking it in the foyer with Torch and Buzzer, who she'd ingratiated herself to by buying them a big box of chocolate covered donuts on the third morning. Every now and then she'd bring them grape soda and ice-cream floats. It couldn't hurt to get on their good - correction, on their not-so-bad sides.

Overall, Nomad thought she was making a very good Cobra trooper. Apparently, Zarana thought so too; she'd taken to leaving Nomad in charge if she had to go do something.

Unfortunately, Nomad still didn't know anything about Cobra's big plans. All she knew was what happened at 'Robac and Co.' - which wasn't much.

That was going to change today. Nomad had a plan.

* * *

She implemented that plan after the last hand-to-hand session of the day, which she was supervising. "Zarana!"

The pink-haired woman turned as Nomad strode toward her. "What? Make it quick, Medusa, I'm busy."

"I wanted to talk to you about something -"

Zarana glared at her impatiently. "Hurry up, I've got a meeting."

"With who?" Nomad asked casually. "Anyone important?"

Zarana started walking. "It's Destro and his four-eyed girlfriend."

Trying not to look too interested, Nomad followed. "Destro and the Baroness are here?" This might just be the opportunity she was looking for. "Mind if I go with you?"

The other woman stopped and raised an eyebrow at Nomad suspiciously. "Why?"

Nomad shrugged. "I want a promotion," she said bluntly.

"A promotion?"

"Why not? I'm a good soldier. Hell, I'm better than most of the other recruits here. I'm not gonna get to put a hole in Hawk's head if I'm stuck here." Nomad gave Zarana a pointed look. "If you promote me to an officer, or if you can put a word in to get me promoted, I'll owe you one."

She could see Zarana thinking about the possibilities. "You know I've still got your back, right?" she pressed. "I told you about that guy last week, didn't I?"

'That guy' - the troop who'd tried to intimidate Nomad the second night here - had been planning to blackmail Zarana with something or other. Nomad had gone straight to Zarana, and she hadn't seen 'that guy' since.

She'd mentioned it to Chuckles; he'd shrugged it off and made her coffee as usual. "Try not to think about it too much," was all he'd said.

"Well…alright," Zarana agreed. "But you better make me look good."

"Everything I learned, I learned from you, right?"

"Sounds goods. Come on, they're waiting in the boardroom."

"Uh…let me just go put on a clean uniform," Nomad said quickly. "I want to make a good impression."

Zarana rolled her eyes. "You better be there in five minutes."

Nomad hurried to her locker, grabbed a fresh uniform and her phone and went to the roof. She changed in the stairwell, then headed to her usual seat by the edge, making the usual checks for surveillance gear. It was early - it was only 7.30, she wasn't supposed to call Chuckles for another hour - but she wasn't sure whether she'd be able to get away from Zarana, Destro and the Baroness to make her usual check in.

Chuckles answered his phone on the first ring. "_What's wrong_?" His voice was tense; he thought something had gone bad.

"Nothing's wrong," she assured him. "I'm fine. Look, I have to be quick. No, no, listen, this is good. Destro and the Baroness are here."

She could almost see the big man pricking his ears. "_What? Why?_"

Nomad shrugged. "I dunno. That's why I'm checking in early; I convinced Zarana to let me in on their meeting. Wasn't sure I'd be able to check in later. If I don't, don't freak out, I'll be in tomorrow as usual."

"_Wait, that's not -_"

"This is a chance to see what's going on," Nomad said impatiently. "I'm doing it. If I don't check in tomorrow, call it in. I have to go, they're waiting for me."

"_Don't do anything stupid, kiddo, or I'll personally kick your ass, you hear me?_"

She was almost offended - and she almost told him so, but decided against it. Hanging up the phone, she rushed back downstairs.

Zarana was waiting for her anxiously outside the boardroom. "About bloody time," she snapped. "How long's it take to change uniform?"

"I couldn't find my other mask," Nomad said, tugging the red material up over her mouth.

Zarana rolled her eyes and stepped past her, opening the door. Nomad followed her in, trying not to look like her heart was in her mouth.

The first thing she thought was that Destro's head was very shiny. She couldn't help it; the metal mask that covered his head gleamed. He was dressed exactly as he had been in the photos in the dossiers she'd read when she first became a Joe - which was now seeming like a long, _long_ time ago.

He was sitting at the head of the long table, looking quite at home. To his left was a woman clad entirely in black leather. Her hair was long, sleek and black, and she wore glasses. The Baroness took one look at Zarana and snorted.

"Good to see you again, Destro," Zarana said, ignoring the Baroness completely. "I hope -"

Destro held a hand up. "I have no time for pleasantries, Zarana." It was a little unnerving to hear the voice coming from behind the motionless mask.

"Then what do you want? You left me in charge, here, you don't need to check up on me."

The Baroness sniggered, but fell silent when Destro turned his head to look at her. Then he glanced at Nomad. "And who is this?"

"That's Medusa." Zarana waved at her dismissively. "She's my second-in-command. She's one of the best trainees we have here."

Nomad nodded to Destro and Baroness.

Destro studied her. She had to stop herself from shifting uncomfortably. "Good. She can come with us."

Nomad narrowed her eyes. "What?"

Zarana stood up straighter. "What? Where are we going?"

"Not you, Zarana. The Baroness and I."

"And it's none of your business," the Baroness said lightly.

Zarana glared at the other woman. "I'm the one runnin' this joint, I have a right to know!"

Destro placed a hand on the Baroness' arm. "The Baroness and I have business with the Commander. We need a third party as witness. I was going to ask you to come along, but as you're so busy here I'm sure you won't mind if your second-in-command joins us, instead."

"I - but -"

"Well, I'm glad that's settled. You - Medusa, is it?"

Nomad nodded as Destro stood up. He was taller than she'd expected. "Yes, sir."

"I expect you to be ready by 0600 tomorrow. Consider this your trial mission for full status as a Cobra trooper."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Nomad caught Zarana's eye and winked.

"You're both dismissed," Destro stated. "The Baroness and I have some documents to draw up before we leave."

Nomad and Zarana both snapped off the Cobra salute, then left the room. As soon as they were out of earshot, Zarana grabbed Nomad's arm. "I want to know what they're up to."

"You'll know as soon as I do," Nomad replied, keeping her voice low and conspiratorial. She was itching to let Chuckles know what had developed. "I'll keep you informed, don't worry."

Nomad closed the door to the shower cubicle and turned the water on full, then pulled her phone from her pocket. She couldn't call Chuckles in here, of course, the risk that somebody else would overhear her talking was too great - but she could send him a text message.

She let him know what had happened. There was no way to keep the message short, so she sent it in detail, then deleted it immediately.

Chuckles' answer came less than a minute later. It was blunt and to the point: he didn't like it. She could just imagine him growling at the phone as he typed: "I told you not to do anything stupid! If you get taken to Cobra Island, we can't go after you!"

She hadn't thought of that. Cobra Island was under its own jurisdiction. The Joes technically weren't allowed to set foot on it.

Uh oh.

Oh well. It couldn't be helped - it wasn't like she'd had much of a choice. She told Chuckles as much, and he agreed. Then he told her not to worry; he'd get in contact with Hawk and they'd figure something out. All Nomad had to do was keep calm, make sure she kept up her cover, and go along with Destro and the Baroness.

Anyway, neither of them had said they were going to Cobra Island. They'd mentioned the Commander - maybe he was at the Cobra Consulate building. Maybe he was somewhere else completely.

Still, she wasn't feeling quite so pleased with herself, now. The thought of being stuck on Cobra Island - without the assurance of Chuckles across the street or Law and Order, wherever they were - was alarming.

Hell, it was outright frightening.

She finished her shower with a heavy feeling in her gut. What if she _did_ get shipped to Cobra Island? Would Hawk just leave her there?

Nah. Hawk was nothing like Goldilocks. Hawk was good. She might have to fend for herself for a little while, but he'd get her out of there.

Right?

* * *

Dressed in her civilian clothes, with her Cobra uniforms in her bag and the .45 she'd been given tucked in a shoulder holster underneath her jacket, Nomad waited on the sidewalk for the Baroness and Destro to join her. She was early, still trying to make a good impression on the arms dealer - still keeping up her cover.

She turned and surveyed the street. The traffic was just starting to pick up, but not many people were walking around - except for the guy and the dog who'd just sat on the bench just up the street and across the road.

Nomad turned away before she felt the urge to go and sit down with Law and Order.

"Oof!" She staggered back as she bumped into what felt much like a brick wall.

A pair of hands steadied her, one grabbing her elbow, the other going to her waist. Nomad caught sight of a pair of dark glasses and an impassive face shadowed by a hat with a floppy brim before he nodded apologetically and kept walking.

"Hey, you could at least say sorry!"

The man paused for half a second, then walked on. Nomad glared after him, then frowned. There was something oddly familiar about him, but she couldn't figure out what it was. With an irritated 'hmph', she leaned against the wall of the building, checking out the big black Hummer that was parked directly out front.

A few minutes later, Destro and the Baroness made their appearance.

"Ah, you're already here," the arms dealer said approvingly. "Good." He opened the door for the Baroness, then waited for Nomad to hop in.

"I assume Zarana made a deal with you?" he asked, once he'd shut the door and the car had rolled away from the curb.

Nomad tried to see who was driving, then turned her attention back to Destro. She decided to go for honesty. "She did. I'm supposed to keep her informed."

"And you'll do just that - but we'll tell you what to inform her of."

Nomad gave Destro and the Baroness a smile. "Sounds good to me. Should I keep an eye on her for you, as well? I happen to know for a fact that she has Buzzer skimming the accounts."

Destro made a thoughtful sound. "A good suggestion. Yes, I think that would be very helpful, Medusa."

Did that make her a triple agent? She was spying on Cobra for the Joes, spying on Destro and the Baroness for Zarana, and now she was apparently going to spy on Zarana for the arms dealer.

"Where are we going?"

"All will be revealed soon," Destro said cryptically.

Nomad nodded warily. She didn't like the sound of that.

* * *

The Hummer stopped outside a building, larger than 'Robac and Co.'.

"This is the Cobra Consulate," the Baroness explained. "We won't be long here - just some loose ends to tie up, and then we'll be on our way."

"To…?"

The Baroness gave her a small smile, but didn't answer.

Nomad was becoming increasingly edgy. Neither Destro nor the Baroness were telling her where they'd be going, and the guy who'd driven them here - Destro addressed him only as Sergeant Major - hadn't yet said a word to her.

A Cobra Viper stopped her as she went to follow the other three to the elevator. "Security check," he said.

"A mere precaution, Medusa," Destro explained. "It only takes a few moments."

"Do you have any weapons on you?" the Viper pressed.

With a long-suffering sigh that was more to calm her nerves than anything else, Nomad reluctantly handed over the .45. "I better get that back."

The Viper waved what looked like an airport security wand over her, then glanced at Destro and the Baroness sharply as it beeped. "We've got something here, sir."

The Sergeant Major drew his gun.

Nomad raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Shit, shit, shit…think, Nomad.

The Viper slowly moved the wand around her body, then stopped as the beeping started again when it neared her left hip. At a gesture from Destro, the Sergeant Major stepped forward and shoved his hand into Nomad's pocket without a word.

"Hey! What the hell -"

The Sergeant Major showed Destro what he'd found. Nomad craned her neck to see as well - it was a small round, button-like object. "Hey, what's that?"

She knew very well what it was. It had been covered in both Joe _and_ Cobra training. She'd have to tell the techies to change the design if - no, _when_ she got back to the Pit.

"A G.I Joe transmitter," the Baroness said, taking it from the Sergeant Major's hand. "Now, how might that have gotten into your pocket?"

Nomad glared. "How the hell should _I_ know?" she snapped, then she stopped to think about it. "Wait…when I was waiting for you this morning, some guy bumped into me and almost knocked me over." She frowned. That had to be the only explanation. The guy must've slipped it into her pocket when he grabbed her to keep her from falling. But who had it -

Wait a second…no, it couldn't have been. She'd never seen him without the mask; he didn't go _anywhere_ without it. There was no way it could've been Snakes.

…But that _would_ explain why he hadn't said anything…

"Look, this is ridiculous," Nomad muttered, glancing at Destro, who was looking at her with his head tilted slightly. "We're wasting time." She snatched the transmitter, tossed it to the ground and stomped on it, hoping the Joes had what they needed already.

The Baroness was still looking at her suspiciously.

"Oh, come on. If I was a Joe, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to carry a transmitter around in my own pocket?"

That seemed to satisfy her. "Fine. Let's go, Destro."

Nomad grabbed her gun back from the Viper, throwing him a disdainful look as she did so, and stepped into the elevator after them.

"Medusa, you'll wait for us in the basement," the Baroness advised.

Nomad shrugged. "Alright."

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Nomad stepped out - followed too closely by the Sergeant Major. "Back off, buddy. Haven't you heard of -"

That was all she managed say before she felt a sharp blow to the back of her neck.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Aah, new chapter. I had this one all written and just waiting for a few last little touch ups...and then I read through it again and decided I didn't like it. So I rewrote pretty much the whole thing. Still not sure about it, but there are a few parts that I really like.

Apart from that, I don't have much else to say...might be a bit longer before the next chapter's up, coz I've got nothing.

As always, thanks for the reviews, and thanks for reading!

* * *

"Almost…there, Matches," Dynamite wheezed. She knew he couldn't hear her. She was trying to convince herself. "Not…far."

It wasn't working.

The damn jungle just never ended. She'd lost track of how long she'd been walking - actually it was more like shuffling, now. Every step hurt. It was agony to even breathe.

It was light, though, at least. The sun was filtering through the branches again, the random spots of brightness that made it through were enough to allow her to see without the flashlight.

Well, 'see' was the wrong word. Her vision wasn't just blurry now - it kept fading in and out. Even knocking her busted fingers didn't help; it made it worse. She'd tried a little while back, and had woken to find herself flat on her face after blacking out completely.

She couldn't afford to let that happen again. Next time, she might not wake up at all.

A low rumble ahead made her look up, blinking through the cold sweat dripping down her face. Sounded like thunder.

Great. Just what she needed - a downpour. Dynamite stopped for a moment to check that Matches was covered by the tarp. At least, that was what she told herself. She was really checking to see if he was still breathing.

He was. Barely.

"Son of a gun, I don't believe it! Dynamite?"

Her head snapped up as she heard the man's voice. A convoy was rolling to a stop before her. Several guys in fatigues were jumping out of the jeep in front and hurrying toward her.

She tried to go for her assault rifle, but her fingers - bent at unnatural angles as they were, and even the unbroken ones were swollen, now - wouldn't let her get a good grip. She slid the tarp off her shoulders as quickly as she could and prepared to defend herself and Matches. She swayed; her knees gave way and she hit the dirt.

"Dynamite, it's okay. It's me, Archer. Hey, remember me?" The man was looking down at her with wide dark eyes. He looked familiar, but all she could think of was that he was stopping her from getting Matches home.

Another voice came from somewhere behind her. "Sir, Matches is alive, but barely. I don't think he's -"

Archer muttered a curse. "I don't care what you think; get him in the jeep and get him back to base ASAP. Dynamite rides with me in the truck. The rest of you move ahead; there were three other guys who went in, plus Goldilocks."

Dynamite rolled her eyes, trying to see what was happening. "Matches -"

"It's okay, Dynamite. He's in good hands -"

"Leave him alone!" She lashed out weakly.

Archer caught her wrist and forced it down. "He needs medical attention. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Have to…get him home. Promised."

"We're gonna do better than that. We're gonna get you _both_ home."

A second man knelt over her. "Hey there, Dynamite," he said cheerily, pushing gently on her shoulders as she struggled to get up. The slightest pressure had her pinned - she just didn't have the strength. She gave up. There was no point fighting it. She closed her eyes.

"Uh uh, none of that. You keep your eyes open til I say you can close 'em, hear?"

She heard, and opened her eyes again. The guy gently flipped her arm over to check out the stained bandage, then twitched her shirt up. He took in a hissing breath and glanced quickly at Archer and muttered something she couldn't hear.

"Alrighty. You stay with us, darlin', we're gonna move you onto a stretcher now."

"Matches -"

Archer put a hand on her forehead. "He's on route back to base right now. We're gonna do everything we can. You ready?"

Dynamite nodded. She didn't even have the energy to groan in pain as she was slid onto the stretcher and the straps were buckled over her chest and legs.

"What are their chances?" she heard Archer ask.

The second man answered. "It'll be touch and go, but I don't reckon she walked all that way just to give up now, Archer."

"And Matches?"

"Well…it didn't look good. Let's just see how things go."

* * *

Something stung the side of her face. Nomad's eyes snapped open. "Ouch!"

She had a killer headache and one eye was watering from the wake-up slap. She rolled her head - as she tilted back she felt a bruise twinge on the back of her neck. Where was she?

She glanced wildly around the dark room. Destro, the Baroness and the Sergeant Major were all peering down at her. Behind them, a door stood open, letting in a shaft of light. She could see the glow of the elevator button panel to the left if she leaned sideways a little.

"Urk. Who hit me?" Nomad tried to stand, but found her hands cuffed to the arms of the chair she was sitting on. Her ankles were bound to the chair legs. "What the hell is this?" She glared at the Sergeant Major. "Hey, _you_ hit me!"

She tried not to panic. She hated not being able to move. _Hated_ it. Not being able to move meant helplessness - and, more often than not, pain. "What's going on? How long was I out?" She failed to keep the tremor from her voice. Dammit.

"Just under an hour," the Baroness said coldly. "I think you know what this is about."

"If I already _know_, why would I ask?" Nomad snapped. Ah, that was better. See? Getting angry always helped.

Maybe Psyche Out had a point when he said she used anger as a defence mechanism. It was certainly what she was doing now…

The Baroness took a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it, then shoved it in Nomad's face. "Do you know this man?"

It was a black and white still, clearly taken from one of 'Robac and Co.'s outer surveillance cameras. It showed a man in cargo pants and a loose, untucked shirt that didn't hide his muscular build. He wore a floppy hat. "That's the guy who bumped into me this morning. Why? Who is he?"

"His name is Snake Eyes."

So it _had_ been Snakes…she _knew_ there'd been something familiar about him. It was the way he moved - she just hadn't recognised him without the intimidating black suit and mask.

She swore to herself. It should have been obvious. "Snake Eyes? One of the Joe ninjas?"

"So you _do_ know him." The Baroness' voice was triumphant.

"Don't be stupid; I've read his file. Anyway, who else would've been able to slip a transmitter into my pocket without me noticing? Apart from the other ninja…Storm…Storm…the one who used to work for Cobra Commander."

"Storm Shadow?"

"That's it."

The Baroness glared at her. "How do we know you're not one of them?"

"A ninja?" Nomad scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Destro leaned forward, his metal face close to hers. "Don't test my patience."

Nomad sighed. "If I was a Joe, they wouldn't have to plant a transmitter on me, would they?" she asked patiently.

The Baroness stepped forward and hit her again. It wasn't a slap this time - Nomad's head snapped back with the force of the blow. "Your name is _not_ Medusa."

"And I'm sure _your_ name's not really Baroness. Of _course_ my name's not Medusa! You didn't have to hit me for that."

"What is it?"

"Holly Cruiser." She used the first name she thought of – a blend of greenshirt Jeckle's first name and greenshirt Heckle's last.

Destro turned to the Baroness.

"Strange," the leather-clad woman mused. "I was under the impression it was Sherry...or, as you seem to prefer, Nomad."

Nomad thought her heart had stopped, and she was pretty sure her expression had slipped, just for a moment. "Yeah? Where'd you get that from?" She rattled the cuffs again. "My real name's Holly. Seriously. I put Sherry down on my paperwork for possible aliases."

"I haven't seen any paperwork," the Baroness said.

"Well, I did it. Just ask Buzzer, he saw me."

Destro heaved a sigh. "And that would explain _why_ we haven't seen any," he said dryly.

The Baroness frowned at Destro. "Could we have been given the wrong information?"

Nomad's eyes flicked up. "Given the wrong information by _who_?"

"That's none of your concern," Destro said. "What about the codename, Nomad?"

Nomad shrugged, keeping her face carefully blank. "Not my style. I'd go for something a bit more flashy. Or dangerous." She looked up. Since regaining consciousness, her wrists hadn't stopped twisting in the cuffs. "Is this part of the trial mission? Because I think I've proved - uh, what's in that?"

While they'd been talking, the Sergeant Major had produced a small case from somewhere. Opening it, he revealed a small glass bottle and a rather large syringe packed in foam.

"Are you familiar with sodium pentathol?" the Baroness asked quietly.

"Uh…not personally, no." The drug had never been used on her, but she'd heard of it, of course. "What does it do?"

"It's a truth serum," Destro explained, taking both the bottle and the needle. "It's very effective."

"Do all new Cobras have to go through this? Don't you trust me?"

"Do _you_ trust anyone in Cobra?"

She gave a reluctant nod. "Okay, you've got me there. But seriously, a truth drug? Is that really necessary?"

Destro approached, the syringe now filled with liquid and looking very pointy. "If you've nothing to hide, then this shouldn't worry you," he said.

She pressed herself back against the chair. "I'm not worried, I just don't like needles all that much. Hey, are you qualified to -"

A loud alarm interrupted her.

"That's the intruder alarm," Destro explained, gazing down at Nomad. The syringe was inches from her neck. "Odd that somebody should sneak in at this time, isn't it?"

"Considering a Joe planted a transmitter on me not long ago? I don't think it is," Nomad retorted, hoping fervently that it was a whole _team_ of Joes storming in to shoot as many Cobras as they could. "Let me outta these cuffs. If it's the one who ran into me, I want first shot at him."

"You're not going anywhere," the Baroness stated. "Sergeant Major, stay here and watch her. If anyone comes near, shoot her."

"Uh, what? Why shoot _me_? He should shoot _them_!" Nomad protested. She silently thanked god that Destro had been distracted. The syringe had gone back into the case.

Destro and the Baroness strode out the door and turned right. That was predictable - they'd take the stairs rather than risk being trapped in the elevator by the intruder. The Sergeant Major turned and trained his rifle on her.

"First you hit me from behind, now you're gonna shoot me while I'm tied to a chair," Nomad muttered contemptuously. "Real brave."

"Orders are orders."

"Yeah? Well, when I'm working for Cobra Commander, you'd better hope I never give you -"

The elevator pinged.

"What in -" The Sergeant Major spun around as they heard the doors slide open. Nomad tried to lean to the side to see what was happening outside the room, but straightened quickly as the chair began to tip sideways.

"Maybe you should go check it out," she suggested offhand, smiling sweetly at the Sergeant Major.

He threw her a nasty look, but cautiously crossed to the door.

What happened next threw Nomad completely. One moment, the Sergeant Major had been standing by the door. The next, something had scuttled across the roof - right _above_ her - and dropped on him like a giant spider.

Make that a giant,_ white_ spider.

"_Stormy_?" Nomad's mouth hung open stupidly as the ninja glanced up, having rendered the Sergeant Major unconscious with a touch.

"Nice to see you again, Nomad. How've you been?"

"I - what - where -" All she could manage to do was stare.

Storm Shadow pulled the bottom half of his mask down and chuckled. "Where did I come from?" he prompted helpfully.

She nodded.

"I was in here all along."

"You…_excuse_ me?" She looked up at him in disbelief. "And you were gonna let them jab me with sodium pentathol?"

The ninja rolled his eyes. "Of course I wasn't," he assured her. "I just wanted to see if you could talk your way out of it. You know, I think you almost had them fooled, but it's a good thing Snake Eyes got here and tripped the alarm when he did."

"Snakes is here, too?"

Hawk had sent two ninjas in to get her? Nomad wasn't quite sure whether to be flattered or annoyed.

"He was getting bored sitting around the Pit. Decided to come along for the exercise."

"Of course he did," she said dryly. "How'd you get in? How come they didn't see you? How did you crawl across the damn roof like that?"

She knew the answers: ninja, ninja and ninja. Still, a less…mystical…explanation might be nice.

Storm nudged the Sergeant Major aside with his foot. "We figured they might bring you here before shipping you off to who knows where. Or killing you, whichever they decided to do."

"Thanks for that," she growled.

"I snuck in and took out the Techno-Vipers manning the surveillance cameras early this morning. After he knocked you out and brought you here, the Sergeant Major went to get Destro and the Baroness. There's a conveniently placed air vent in the corner up there - I've been hiding in it since then."

"And the Spidey trick?"

"Ninja."

"Typical." Nomad rattled the handcuffs. "Get these things off me so we can get the hell outta here."

Storm Shadow grinned wickedly and unsheathed his sword.

"What're you - no, no, no! Not like that!" Nomad cringed back into the chair as Storm swung the sword. There was a sharp jerk on both sets of cuffs.

She opened one eye and glanced at her wrists - the cuffs had been severed in two at a link in the middle of the chain. As she watched, Storm dragged the blade along the ropes around her ankles, slicing the bonds cleanly. Nomad stood up quickly and snatched the unconscious Sergeant Major's gun, searching his pockets for spare clips and coming up empty.

Storm Shadow cleared his throat.

"Alright, alright. Thank you for coming to rescue my unworthy life." She paused, realising that didn't sound very sincere, and turned to him. "Thanks, Storm. I appreciate it, really. And look, I know how you like to show off your ninja awesomeness any chance you get, but next time, just get the keys. Please." She held up said keys, which she'd just found in the Sergeant Major's pocket, then unlocked the cuff halves that still circled her wrists.

"Hopefully, there won't _be_ a next time," Storm sniggered, then he got serious again. "We need to move. Somebody will think to come and check on you when they realise the alarm was just a distraction."

Nomad followed him to the door, then out into the hall when he'd made sure there were no Cobras waiting to ambush them. He pressed the call button for the elevator - the doors opened immediately. "All clear."

Nomad backed up as the emergency access hatch in the roof opened and a man in civilian clothing lowered himself down. He was tall, with blonde hair and a strangely impassive face half-shadowed by a floppy hat.

"Snake Eyes! I didn't even recognise you this morning!" Nomad exclaimed, reaching up to lift the brim of the hat. The sunglasses were gone. His eyes were blue and sharp - at least, one was. There was something a little weird going on with the left eye - kind of like his eyelid didn't fit on right, or something.

He nodded, and his hands immediately started to sign.

"Slow down, I can't -"

"There they are! Get 'em!"

Nomad just had time to glance behind her and see a group of Cobra troops running toward them before Storm bundled her into the elevator and mashed the buttons without looking. Snake Eyes shoved Nomad behind him and, as the doors closed, threw several small, shiny stars toward the Cobras. She had no doubt that there'd be at least three bodies piled in front of the doors now. At least moving them out of the way would slow the others down a little bit.

"Okay, what's the deal?" Nomad demanded, glaring at Snake Eyes. "Why'd you put that transmitter in my pocket?"

"This is the Cobra Consulate - official Cobra territory," Storm explained, keeping an eye on the elevator's display screen as he translated for the mute ninja. They were just passing the tenth floor. "Like Cobra Island, Joes aren't supposed to be here. The only reason one of us would be here is if we were being held here by Cobra. Hawk reasoned that if we put a transmitter on you, and it stopped transmitting, you'd most likely be in trouble -"

"Giving you a perfectly good reason to come after me," Nomad finished with a grin. "Hawk's _sneaky_."

*You don't know the half of it,* Snakes signed. She looked up at him, expecting a grin, but his face was still blank.

All of a sudden, the elevator juddered to a stop and the lights went out.

"Well, there goes _that_ idea," Storm Shadow said lightly. Nomad frowned at him; he sounded almost pleased that their escape hadn't been easy.

Damn ninja.

Snake Eyes leaped and caught hold of the still open access hatch, pulling himself up easily. Storm laced his hands together; Nomad stepped into them and he launched her up. Snakes caught her wrists and lifted her through the hatch.

She glanced up. The elevator cables disappeared into the gloom overhead, still swaying. She hoped they wouldn't have to climb too far up - rope climbs weren't her favourite obstacle. That, and she was still wearing only her civilian clothes - shorts, a singlet and a jacket. Not the most practical of clothing. At least she still had the shoulder holster on. It now held the Sergeant Major's gun.

Storm Shadow hauled himself out of the elevator. "Time to put those rope-climbing skills Beachhead makes us practice to good use," he said cheerfully. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a nasty-looking, three-pronged claw that he fastened to his wrist.

Nomad looked at it warily. "What's that for?"

"Usually? Climbing up walls," he answered.

She glanced at Snake Eyes. He was now wearing one as well.

"And…not usually?" she hazarded. Considering they had cables to climb, she figured there must be an alternate use. She'd probably regret asking.

"They're also good for gouging."

"Ah." Nomad thought it best to leave it at that.

Snake Eyes grabbed the cable and began to climb. Nomad went next, followed by Storm, who promised her playfully that he'd catch her when she fell. Not if. _When_. She was tempted to 'accidentally' slip and plant a foot in his face, but decided that she'd rather live.

They climbed up another five floors, until Snake Eyes nimbly swung himself over to a set of outer doors and - somehow - clung to the small ledge. Nomad tightened her legs around the cable and hung on with one hand, pointing the Sergeant Major's gun as the ninja pried the doors open.

He somersaulted through the doors as soon as they were wide enough for him to get through. Nomad didn't even have time to squeeze a shot off; the three Cobra troops waiting outside went down in less than three seconds. It was messy - the first had the tendons behind his knees ripped out by the claw, the second received a kick in the guts and then a knee to the nose (Nomad heard the crack even in the elevator shaft) and the third fell to the floor, clutching at his chest after Snake Eyes raked the claw across him.

The ninja crouched for a moment, waiting to see if any other troopers were coming. He wasn't even breathing hard.

Nomad, on the other hand, was tiring. She quickly tucked the gun into the holster and hung onto the cable with both hands.

Snake Eyes turned and beckoned to her. She reached out with one hand to grab his and stretched a leg out, and then she was on solid - thought slippery - ground again. She tried not to step in the blood as she covered the hallway.

"Time to go," Storm said once he'd swung out of the shaft. Nomad dumped the Sergeant Major's gun in favour of one of the troops' assault rifles, and she and the two ninjas ran for the stairs.

The stairwell was just around the corner. Just as they reached it, Storm Shadow pressed his back to the wall, flinging his arm across Nomad's chest and pushing her back as well. Snake Eyes tilted his head to one side, standing across from Storm.

"What -" she whispered.

Storm narrowed his eyes warningly at her, then jerked his head at the door and held up two fingers. Two troops were coming down the stairs. She didn't bother to ask how he knew.

Suddenly, Storm whirled around, his sword flashing. As the door handle turned, the sword pierced straight through the door, which swung open quickly under the weight of the Cobra troop now impaled on the blade. The second troop almost ran right into Storm Shadow's arms. The ninja tossed him aside easily, but he didn't stay down. Snake Eyes whacked him across the head and he dropped.

Stormy calmly retrieved his sword and wiped the blood on the troop's body before heading up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

"Up?" Nomad asked in disbelief. "If they block off all the lower levels, they'll be able to sweep up through all the floors, and then we're fucked."

Snakes just grabbed her arm and pulled her up the stairs after him.

"Alright, alright! But would an explanation of the plan be too much to ask for? You guys _do_ have a plan, right? Do ninjas make plans?"

"Wild Bill's waiting for us on the roof," Storm Shadow said obligingly. "Or at least he will be in a few minutes." He knelt and slid the tip of his sword under the next door, angling it slightly to check the reflection. "Not that one." He moved on.

Somewhere further up the stairwell, another door opened. The three Joes stopped as they heard several pairs of feet rapidly descending toward them, accompanied by the sounds of weapons and hushed voices murmuring into headsets. They turned, only to hear the same thing from below.

Storm Shadow said something in Japanese - probably the same curse Nomad had just said in English. "This way," he whispered, retreating back to the door they'd just passed. He glanced warily upwards, tightening his grip on the sword. "There are Cobra troops out there," he said quietly.

Nomad peeked under the door. There were several pairs of Cobra-issue boots milling around outside. "I've got this," she said, brandishing the rifle.

Snake Eyes pulled the door open. Nomad burst through, opening fire on the unsuspecting troops. The white wall behind them was splattered with red. "Clear," she called softly, replenishing her ammo from the dead troops' pockets.

"Good idea," Storm said, jogging past. His feet made absolutely no sound.

"What?"

"Snake Eyes says there's a fire escape on the other side of the building." He turned the next corner. Immediately, a rain of bullets bit into the walls and he jumped back.

Nomad took a quick look, then leaned back against the wall in dismay, wincing as chunks of plaster blew off the wall. The entire room beyond was filled with Cobras, all heavily armed. "Yeah? And we're gonna get there…how?"

"Well," Storm Shadow said, checking the Cobra gun he'd just picked up. "I _do_ have an idea."

"I'm not gonna like it, am I?"

"Probably not. But you don't want to live forever, do you?"

She shook her head as she stuffed a full clip into her own gun. "No," she said, "but I _was_ kind of hoping to make it to my next birthday. Where's Snake Eyes?"

"Taking care of the troops in the stairwell. When's your birthday?"

"Couple of months." She gave a shrug. "Let's get this over with."

"Alright. Give me five seconds."

"Storm, wait!"

The ninja had already lunged around the corner, gun blazing, throwing something with his other hand. Swearing loudly, Nomad counted to five, then followed - only to find the room now filled with smoke. The damn ninja actually had smoke pellets. She didn't shoot, worried she'd hit Storm, but then he materialised beside her, sword drawn and already bloody. She gladly opened fire on the shadowy figures of the Cobra troops, holding the rifle in one hand as Stormy grabbed her elbow and guided her toward the window at the far end. Nomad couldn't believe what they were doing - running straight through the middle of a room full of armed enemies.

She used the butt of the rifle to smash the window. Storm literally threw her out, then disappeared back into the haze. Nomad was left to nervously look up and down the fire escape through stinging eyes, coughing. Storm Shadow had said Wild Bill would be waiting on the roof - but she wasn't going to leave him and Snake Eyes behind.

More smoke billowed out the window, and then two figures leaped out. She stepped aside just in time to avoid getting bowled over.

"Let's go," Storm said, ushering her up the rattling stairs.

She was puffing by the time they reached the roof, and her knees felt a little wobbly. Storm deposited her behind the storage shed before scouting around. Snakes came to stand beside her.

"I thought Wild Bill was -"

Nomad gave a jolt as Snakes glanced down at her. The floppy hat was gone, and now that it wasn't shadowing his face - and now that they were in broad daylight, not being chased just yet by the enemy - she could see him clearly.

Whatever had gone down in the stairwell, and in the smoke-filled room, he hadn't come out unscathed. His left eye - the one that had looked a little weird before - was wide, the eyelid torn right off. A flap of ragged skin dangled against his cheek. She leaped to her feet and reached out to him. "God, Snakes, you're -"

Wait a minute. There should be blood. There should be _lots_ of blood.

Why wasn't there any blood?

He realised what she was staring at and raised a hand quickly to his face, feeling the damage. Grabbing the torn skin, he began to pull it away.

"What the - no, don't -" Nomad stared in horror as he ripped his face off, looked down at it for a moment, then tossed it to her. She cried out in disgust, jumping away. The skin landed with a soft _plop_ on the concrete. "Oh my God!"

It was only when she heard Snake Eyes' huffing laughter that she realised she'd been had. She frowned, hesitantly poked the rubbery blob, then picked it up. She held it up in front of her as if she was holding out a new shirt and studied it.

"It's a mask. You…you ass!" She threw the mask back at him, laughing more out of relief than anything. "Goddammit, you scared the hell outta -" She broke off as her eyes lifted to his face. "Oh, Snakes..."

Scars ran down the side of his face, puckering the skin. His left eye was wide and staring, surrounded by skin that had obviously been burned at some stage.

They really weren't _that_ bad - the scars. Sure, they weren't pretty. And the eye was a little creepy, she had to admit, but apart from that…

The way he'd sprung it on her was probably the most shocking thing. She'd honestly thought he was pulling his own skin off.

"Is this what you looked like?" she asked, pointing to the mask questioningly. "I mean…you know." She stopped. "I mean, I don't - know what? Forget I asked."

He held his hands up to silence her, his shoulders shaking with laughter again. *Relax. Yes, that's what I used to look like.*

"It's none of my business. I know what -"

*It's okay,* he insisted. *I've lived with these longer than you've been enlisted. I think I'm used to it by now.*

She looked up at him. "Well, I don't have a problem with scars," she said truthfully, then frowned at him. "You know, that wasn't funny."

*Actually, it was,* he replied, smiling slightly. *You should have seen your face. I should have had a camera.*

"Smartass."

They turned as they heard the loud, rhythmic _whup_ of helicopter rotors. Storm rejoined them.

"No need to wait for an invitation!" The voice was almost drowned out by the chopper, but it was familiar. Duke stood in the open bay of the Tomahawk as it ascended into view and hovered a few feet away from the building. The top sergeant waved his arm. "Move it!"

Behind them, the rooftop door burst open and Cobra troops spilled through it. Snake Eyes shoved Nomad forward, then both he and Storm Shadow spun and ran straight for them. Nomad went to follow, but Duke called her back. "Nomad! Get your ass here now!"

"But -"

"They can look after themselves!" Duke pointed a finger to the helicopter floor. "Get in this chopper right now, soldier! That's an order!"

Well, that settled it. Nomad bolted for the side of the building and leaped off the edge, flying over almost two metres of empty space - with a _long_ drop beneath her - into the Tomahawk. She landed awkwardly and rolled to a stop against the wall. "Couldn't have parked a bit closer, could you?"

Duke glanced over his shoulder at her. "Get up front and man the chin turret. Give Storm and Snakes some backup," he barked.

"Yes, sir."

"Just think of it as one o' them arcade shootin' games," Wild Bill said helpfully.

Nomad slid into the seat and swung the gun around, giving the trigger a short squeeze to find her range. A spray of bullets chipped the concrete roof well short of the troops. She adjusted the gun and fired again, this time sending rounds over the troops' heads. Most of them ducked or hit the ground.

"That's done it, Nomad!" Wild Bill whooped. "Yeehaw!"

She let go, watching as Storm and Snakes hurled themselves off the roof and into the Tomahawk.

"Take off, Bill!" Duke yelled.

The chopper veered away. Nomad took the liberty of returning fire on the troops who were now shooting at them.

She leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment once they were out of range.

"Hey, wanna ride shotgun for a bit?" the cowboy asked her.

"Yeah!" She flopped down beside him, eagerly looking out the window. It was only rarely that she got to sit in the cockpit - she was usually in back, waiting to 'chute or rappel out.

She glanced sideways at him as he laughed. "What?"

"Nothin'. How'd you get the shiner?"

"Huh?" She raised a hand to her eye and winced as she felt the bruise. "Oh, that. The Baroness hit me."

"Put some ice on it," Duke said, leaning over and slapping an ice pack into her hand.

"Thanks." She turned in her seat to glance back at him and the two ninjas. The ice pack felt like heaven on her face - the killer headache she'd felt after the Sergeant Major knocked her out was back - and, just like the Brood Mother in the Ridley movie sequel, it was bigger and meaner. "Everyone else okay?"

Snake Eyes gave her a thumbs up. Storm looked at her and smirked.

She took that as a 'yes', but decided to try and wipe the look off his face anyway. "So, Stormy. I got to read your file. You used to work for Cobra Commander himself, huh?"

It didn't have the effect she was looking for. "Yeah," he answered nonchalantly as he started to clean his sword. "Are you going to have a problem with that?"

She sighed in resignation. No matter how hard she tried, she'd never get one up on him. "No," she said. "Chuckles said you had your reasons. That's good enough for me." She paused, then grinned. "Believe it or not, I'm not stupid enough to pick a fight with either of you."

Snakes signed something rapidly. Storm Shadow shook his head and sniggered.

"Hey, I'm not," she insisted, not understanding what Snakes had said, but figuring it was probably to do with her intelligence, or lack thereof.

Nomad flapped her free hand in exasperation and turned to Wild Bill. "I'll never understand ninjas."

The pilot reached up and slid his mirrored down his nose, peering at her over the top of them. "Don't worry, darlin', you ain't the only one."


	13. Chapter Twelve

Happy Easter everyone! Easter Bunny came early to me...I've already started on the chocolate :D And thanks to Anzac Day, I have five whole days off! I plan to sleep. A lot.

Okay, so this chapter's more filler than anything else - I think I just like writing encounters with other Joes. Have some ideas for the next chapter, but whether they work or not...

As always, thanks for the reviews! They keep me writing, without 'em I wouldn't have got past the first chapter!

* * *

"_But I'm a creep…I'm a weirdoooo…_"

Nomad sniggered to herself as she, Duke, Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow strode into the garage. "You got _that_ right, grease monkey," she said, sidling up to Clutch and elbowing him in the ribs.

He turned, a broad grin on his face. It looked like he hadn't shaved since the day he'd driven her to meet Chuckles - his face was almost as hairy as Rock 'n' Roll's. "Look who's back!" he exclaimed, wiping his oily hands on his BDUs and pulling her into a one-armed hug.

"Aaaahah…ow…" She grimaced. "Watch the neck."

Clutch let her go quickly and stepped back, looking her up and down. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand - still holding the ice pack - away from her face. He hissed as he saw her black eye. "Ouch. You're a mess," he pointed out bluntly.

Good ol' Clutch. She glanced down at herself, taking in the dust, sweat, Cobra blood and grease from the elevator cables. "Thanks," she said dryly. "No wonder you're such a hit with the girls."

"Hey, I _like_ messy."

She shook her head, but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Rock 'n' Roll!" she called to the blonde guy. "How's the leg?"

"Gettin' there." He was still limping. Nomad wondered if Lifeline had chewed him out after she'd mentioned seeing him hopping around rather than using the crutches after she'd 'casually' mentioned it.

Duke came up to them and looked down at Nomad. "You can chat later," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "You need to get yourself to Hawk's office for debriefing."

"But…" Nomad glanced back to Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll. "Just a few more -"

The top sergeant gave her a look.

"On my way, Duke." She looked miserably at the two mechanics. She wanted to stay and…well, hang out. She hadn't had any friends around for two weeks; she'd missed just talking to somebody and not having to worry about what she was saying. Sure, she'd seen Chuckles every day, but even then she'd had to choose her words carefully…and even after the two weeks, she wasn't sure she really knew him all that well. Nomad was pretty sure that the only time Chuckles had been himself around her was that first night, going through the plan.

"Go on," Rock 'n' Roll said, nodding in the direction of the personnel elevator (where Duke was now standing with the two ninjas, his arms crossed). "We can talk later. Clutch'll treat us to lunch and drinks at the PX Snack Bar."

"Her," Clutch corrected, jerking a thumb at Nomad. "I'll treat _her_ to lunch and drinks. You can get your own, ya damn freeloader."

"Well, it was worth a shot."

And to think she'd missed these two morons. Grinning and shaking her head, Nomad jogged over to the elevator.

*Glad to be back?* Snake Eyes signed. He was wearing a mask again - there'd been a spare black one in the Tomahawk. It looked a little odd combined with the civilian clothes.

She nodded. For somebody who'd not long come from a bare apartment with nothing but a rucksack and a swag, she'd gotten very attached to this place very quickly.

* * *

"Any questions?"

Hawk leaned back in his chair, surveying Nomad, Storm Shadow and Snake Eyes. The debriefing was almost over - now was the time for any remaining questions to be answered.

Nomad had divulged what she'd found out during her stint at 'Robac and Co.': Zarana was in charge of things, and Buzzer and Torch helped - if 'help' was what you could call it. Sure, Buzzer _had_ been skimming the accounts, but Nomad figured that as long as it was _Cobra_ he and Zarana were stealing from, it wouldn't really matter.

After giving Hawk her report, Nomad apologised for not being able to find out anything useful. The General had quickly assured her that what she'd discovered _was_ helpful - they now had some idea of the Cobra training program, the kinds of files the enemy had available to them…and also the fact that Destro and the Baroness were making some kind of new arrangement with the Commander himself.

Nomad felt a little better after that…still, she felt that maybe undercover operations weren't her forte.

There was also the matter of who had discovered Nomad's identity and informed Destro and the Baroness. Nomad was absolutely certain she hadn't said anything to raise suspicions; she'd been careful to the point of paranoia. Hawk agreed with her, stating bluntly that if she had, she wouldn't have lasted the whole two weeks.

She'd assumed he meant that if she'd…broken…before, she would again. He read her face and explained hastily - if she'd said something, Cobra would've immediately jumped on her like a…well, a snake on a mouse. In any case, he had Mainframe and Breaker working on the computers, seeing if any Joe files had been hacked or any communications had been intercepted.

"Sir, what about 'Robac and Co.'?" Nomad asked, resisting the urge to raise her hand before speaking.

Hawk shook his head. "About half an hour after Destro and the Baroness found the transmitter on you, a fire broke out in the building. I have the feeling that the whole place will be gutted, but I sent Blowtorch and Barbecue to check it out, just in case."

Nomad sighed. "Chuckles, Law and Order?"

"Chuckles has a new post; that's all you need to know on that matter. Law'll keep an eye on the place for a few days, then return to base."

Nomad nodded, then turned as there was a knock on the office door and Lifeline stuck his head in. "Duke sent me," he said.

"Snakes, Storm, I still need to talk to you both," Hawk said, glancing at the ninjas. "Nomad, anything else you want to ask?"

"No, sir."

"Alright. You can take the rest of the day off. I'll recommend you for a few days leave."

Nomad looked up quickly. "I'd rather you didn't, sir."

Hawk gave her a puzzled look. Snake Eyes tilted his head, and Storm Shadow raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" the general asked.

She shrugged slightly, shifting under their combined gazes. "I…don't like time off," she admitted.

*Should we leave so you can talk about it?* Snakes signed.

"Nah, I don't care if you guys hear this," she decided, surprising herself. "General, it's just that…time off means I have time to think." She paused then added quickly, "And no, I don't need to see Psyche Out about this. I wouldn't matter how much I talked about it, I'd still end up thinking about…stuff."

It was true. It was why, when she'd worked as a secretary, she'd got to work early and left late. It was why she needed sleeping pills (though she didn't need them as much these days). If she didn't take some before going to bed, she could lay awake for hours, just thinking about what had happened - and more often than not, thinking of things she could have done different: if maybe she'd done _that_ instead, her team might still be alive.

"Well, at least take today and tomorrow off," Hawk said. His expression was unreadable.

"I - yes, sir." Nomad thought she should at least compromise.

"Good. Now, you can go with Lifeline, and he'll give you a full check up."

"But I'm not -" She stopped and sighed as the General gave her a pointed look. "Yes, sir." She stood, saluted and strode to the door Lifeline was still holding open. As she reached it, one last question came to mind. "Hey, Hawk?"

He turned away from the ninjas. "Yeah?"

"Um…if I _had_ been shipped off to Cobra Island or somewhere…what would have happened then?"

Hawk studied her. "I wouldn't have left you there for ten months, if that's what's on your mind."

Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow both looked at her.

"What? No, that's not what I was thinking -" One look at Hawk's face told her he wasn't buying it. "Okay, it might've crossed my mind. But only for a second. Sir."

"We look after our own, Nomad."

"I know, General."

"Don't forget it."

The discussion was clearly over. Giving Hawk and the ninjas a polite nod, she followed Lifeline out of the room.

"I'm fine," she said as soon as they were out of earshot. "I don't need a medical."

Lifeline rolled his eyes. "We need to take x-rays just in case they planted a tracking device in you when you were unconscious," he explained.

She raised a hand to rub the back of her bruised neck. She couldn't feel anything under the skin - if there _was_ a tracking device, wouldn't she be able to feel it?

"No," the medic said, noticing, "you wouldn't be able to feel it."

"Oh. Right. I knew that."

"So," Lifeline said, grinning. "How've you been?"

"Not bad, considering." she said.

"Sleeping?"

"Not so much. It'll be easier now I'm back here." She remembered something. "Wait. I don't like you, Lifeline."

He glanced down at her, looking confused and a little hurt. "What? Why not?"

She gave him a mischievous smirk. "Well, if you don't know, I'm not gonna tell you."

She watched as he racked his brains, trying to think of how he'd angered her. "Oh. This is about the decaf, isn't it?"

Nomad nodded. "This is about the decaf."

Lifeline raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Are you trying to tell me you _didn't_ convince Chuckles to give you normal coffee?"

"Well…" Of course she had - Chuckles had tried to give her decaf the second morning, as well. She'd taken a sip, then simply stared at him until he'd replaced it. He hadn't bothered with the decaf again.

"I knew it."

"Hey, I needed that caffeine. I couldn't be in a building full of enemies and not be wide awake and alert, now, could I?"

Lifeline sighed.

* * *

Nomad finished dressing and threw the curtain back to see Lifeline already checking out her x-rays. "No tracking devices?"

"No tracking devices."

Nomad tried not to let on how relieved she was to hear that, but from the expression on Lifeline's face, he could tell. "So I'm good to go?"

The medic gave her an apologetic look. "Uh…not just yet."

"What?" Nomad flapped her arms impatiently. "What _else_ is there?"

"Well…Psyche Out wants to -"

Nomad groaned. "You guys do this just to piss me off, don't you?"

"Sure. It has nothing to do with protocol at all."

She recognised the gentle rebuke. "Alright, alright. Is he in his office?"

Lifeline nodded. "He's waiting for you."

She sighed. "Damn doctors."

"Technically, I'm not a doctor. I'm just a medic. I should be exempt from that generalisation."

She sniggered. "You're close enough to a doctor to still be a pain in the ass. Maybe I should start calling you PIA for short."

"Get out of here."

"Fine, PIA. Hey, before I go, does Doc keep a stash of lollipops hidden around here somewhere?"

Rolling his eyes, Lifeline crossed to the office and emerged a few moments later holding out a heart-shaped, red lollipop.

"Thanks."

"_Now_ will you get out of here?"

"Sure, PIA."

He shook his head. "And to think I missed you just a little bit."

"Aw, did you? Really?"

Lifeline opened the door. "Go."

Laughing, she ducked out and crossed the short distance to Psyche Out's office. "Hey, shrink."

Psyche Out looked up and smiled. "Why are you so happy?" he asked curiously.

"I have a lollipop." She grinned, then shook her head. "Actually, Psyche Out, I'm just kinda happy to be ho -" She stopped short.

The psychologist picked up on it. "Happy to be…?" he prompted.

"Back," she finished lamely. Then she put on a bright face again. "So, what do you want? Is it gonna take long? Because I am _dying_ to get back into my BDUs."

"Just a few questions and a couple of quick tests."

"Why?"

He shook his head. "I'll tell you when we're done, otherwise it defeats the purpose."

"Alright then. The sooner we get started, the sooner I get outta here, right?"

"Right. Now…"

* * *

"Well, Nomad, I am pleased to pronounce that you are most definitely _not_ brainwashed."

Nomad stared at Psyche Out. "_That_'_s_ what all that was for? I could've _told_ you I wasn't brainwashed."

The shrink chuckled. "Maybe, but if you were brainwashed you would've said that anyway, and I _still_ wouldn't know for certain, would I?"

"But I - oh, forget it, I can't win against you." She grinned. "So can I go?"

He nodded. "Sure. By the way, you might want to drop by recovery. I think there's a patient in there who'd be glad to see you."

Nomad frowned. "Huh? Who?"

Psyche Out just smiled and went back to his paperwork.

"Fine, be like that." Nomad closed the door quietly behind her. Who would want to see her? Had they been injured badly? It mustn't be _too_ bad if they were in recovery.

Could it be Lowlight?

She stopped herself there. Why would Lowlight be glad to see her?

She hurried back into the infirmary and strode through to the back, where recovering and less seriously injured patients could get some slightly more peaceful rest than they could out in the main room.

Four of the beds were occupied. Nomad's breath caught in her throat as she saw Lowlight in the first. The sniper was asleep - which was a good thing, she thought, because the sheet had been pushed down around his waist and all he had on was a bandage winding over his left shoulder and around his chest.

She rarely saw Lowlight out of his jumpsuit, and she'd definitely never seen him without it completely. He was tall and lean and well-muscled. Of course, 'well-muscled' was pretty much a prerequisite of being a Joe, but still, she'd never imagined him to be quite so…defined.

That jumpsuit of his hid far too much. Nomad found herself thinking -

Noooo. No. Enough of that. Enjoying the sights occasionally was good - healthy, even, especially if it was during training and the shirts were off and the guys were sweating. Scarlett, Lady Jaye and Covergirl would agree with her. But Lowlight was…

Lowlight was…what? Off-limits?

Nomad nodded to herself. Yes: Lowlight was off-limits. He was her range instructor, for god's sake; that was what frat regs were all about. She shouldn't be thinking like that. She usually wouldn't; it was just because…well, maybe there wasn't a reason. Maybe she was just in the mood. It happened sometimes after a mission; all the adrenalin, the danger - that alive feeling just filled you up, and sometimes it manifested in weird ways...like feeling horny. Nomad remembered Skipper telling her that after a particularly intense live ammo training run - he'd spent most of the ride back to base beside her with his helmet on his lap. She'd asked him why he looked so uncomfortable.

Anyway, Lowlight hadn't even been there to say goodbye when she'd shipped out for her mission. Not that she cared, of course. Because she didn't.

She tore her eyes from his body and glanced over at the next bed. It barely contained a large, bearded man - also asleep - who wore a white t-shirt with 'SURVIVAL' emblazoned across it. She didn't know him.

The man in the third bed was also unknown to her. He was younger, with sandy hair. He had an IV in his arm and he waved dopily at her with his free hand.

She smiled brightly as she noticed who was in the fourth bed. "Dusty!" She tiptoed over, waving again at the drugged-up soldier as he smiled and said, "Hi there, cutie!"

"Hey, sweetheart," she humoured him. He smiled innocently - he was completely out of it - and promptly sacked out.

The desert trooper - who she hadn't seen since her second week at the Pit - flashed his familiar, ever-cheerful grin at her and rested his book on his leg. As he moved, the buttons of his stripy pyjamas gaped open and she noticed a bandage underneath. "Hey, stranger. Long time no see. You get a good eyeful of sniper?"

Nomad, having been part of a largely male team for most of her military career, knew the safest way to get out of this was to play along. "Hell yeah, I totally checked Lowlight out." She allowed a note of sarcasm into her voice.

"Thought so." Dusty chuckled, then winced. "Ah. It hurts to laugh. Don't make me laugh, Nomad."

"You? Not laugh? That's impossible." She gestured to his bed. "You mind?"

He shook his head. She perched herself on the edge and rested her feet on the chair beside the bed, looking at him. He looked strange without paint smeared over his face. "Is it bad?"

Dusty shook his head again. "Nah," he said lightly. "Just a couple broken ribs. I coulda been up an' about last week, but you know Lifeline an' Doc."

"Doc's back? Last time I saw him he was on the Flagg."

"Doc, Shipwreck, Torpedo, Cutter, Deep Six…yeah, they're all back." Dusty paused. "And while you've been _gone_, I've heard a few stories 'bout you."

She groaned inwardly. Still, she'd seen it coming. In any case, telling people the basics wasn't as hard as it used to be. "Oh, yeah? Like what?" She played dumb, just in case she could get away with it.

He gave her a look. So much for that idea. "Right." She glanced around. "So…who're they?"

"That was a real bad subject change, but the hairy guy's Outback -"

Outback…she'd heard that name before…where? Ah, that was it; he was one of the guys who'd found the Cobra base in Guatemala.

"- and that's Ripcord. He's on painkillers. Can ya tell?"

She looked at the younger guy. He was dead to the world, one arm hanging off the bed, his mouth open. He was drooling a little.

"So, do I get to see?" Dusty asked.

Nomad showed him her scars. "You said you know the story, right?"

He nodded. "Covergirl told me. Hope you don't mind -"

"Nah, it's okay." She waved a hand dismissively. "The only reason you don't know is coz you haven't been around."

Dusty's grin grew a little wider. "Kinda hard to keep stuff under wraps around here, ain't it? I also heard a story that involved a certain laser gunner shootin' you in the ass."

"Figures," she said with a chuckle. "So - uh oh."

"What 'uh oh' - oh."

Lifeline was glaring lethal weapons at Nomad. "Off," he mouthed, stopping by Ripcord's bed to tuck his arm under the covers.

"Aw, Lifeline, it ain't hurtin' much anymore," Dusty said good-naturedly. "Only when I laugh. She can sit on the bed."

"No, she can't," the medic stated. He pointed to the chair.

"You're just no fun at all, are ya?" Dusty asked. He chuckled, then pressed a hand to his side. "Ow."

"No, I'm not," Lifeline answered, heaving a long-suffering sigh. "Nomad -"

"Relax. I was just about to go, anyway." She gestured to her dirty civilian clothes. "I need to get changed. And I wouldn't mind a coffee, either."

Lifeline took a half-hearted swipe at her head that, predictably, came nowhere close to hitting her. Giggling, she ducked his arm, then headed for the door.

"Don't I even get a 'hello'?"

Holding her breath for some reason, she turned to see Lowlight looking at her. He was sitting up now, leaning back on a couple of pillows. His lack of shirt was still distracting.

Nomad mentally berated herself. Those were bad thoughts.

"Well?"

"Huh?" He was looking at her with one eyebrow raised. "Oh. Sorry. Hello, Lowlight."

"That's better."

She strode over to him, sneaking a look back at Lifeline to make sure he was still busy with Dusty. "What've you gone and done to yourself, you stupid sniper?"

"Got shot. Nothing serious."

Nomad rolled her eyes. "Is _any_ injury ever serious around here?"

Lowlight chuckled. "Not many. Doc might think otherwise; you better go ask him." He frowned. "Who gave you the black eye?"

"The Baroness." She gave him a ten second run-down, though she left out the part where she'd been cuffed to a chair and threatened with sodium pentathol.

"Next time I see her, I'll shoot her for you."

Nomad found that a little flattering. "No, you won't, because I'll beat you to it."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You're a good shot, Nomad, but I'm better."

"Well aren't you just full of yourself today, Cooper?"

For a moment, the sniper just looked at her. Then - just before things got awkward - his eyes flicked past her.

"Lifeline's behind me, isn't he?"

The medic cleared his throat.

Nomad threw her hands up. "I'm going!"

"Hey," Lowlight called after her.

She turned. "What?"

"It's good to have you back."

She gave him a thumbs up, then left the room. Once she was clear of the infirmary, she leaned against the wall and muttered a long string of curses to herself.

She needed chocolate.

* * *

Covergirl beamed at her as she opened the door and walked into the room. "Nomad!" She bounced off the bed and went to hug her.

Nomad tried unsuccessfully to fend the ex-model off. "Ouch. Sore neck. I've only been gone two weeks."

"Yeah, but you could have died at any time during those two weeks," Covergirl retorted. "How'd you go? Did you get anything good out of 'em?"

Nomad shook her head. "I've already been debriefed; I don't really want to go through it all again."

Covergirl pouted. "Oh, alright." She looked Nomad up and down. "You're filthy."

"I had to climb up and elevator shaft and then run through a room full of ninja smoke and Cobra troops who were trying to kill me. We can't all come out looking perfect like you would, you know."

"Aw, you think I'm perfect?"

Rolling her eyes, Nomad went to flop down on her bed and noticed a small box just before sitting on it. "Hey! You guys got me a new iPod!"

Covergirl sniggered. "Wildcard felt bad. He gave me the money and I went and got it. Hope you like purple."

"It doesn't matter what colour it is, as long as it plays music." Nomad unpacked the shiny new toy. "Is the walking danger zone around?"

Covergirl shook her head. "You'll have to wait until he gets back to thank him; he's off in the Mean Dog, destroying things somewhere."

Nomad laughed. "Alright. Thanks for this, Covergirl."

"No problem."

Nomad stood and pulled her BDUs out of her drawer. "I'm off for a shower." She scratched her head - her hair was still in braids. "I can't wait to get rid of these."

"Ooh, let me help take 'em out. I bet you'll have an afro."

Nomad groaned. Nevertheless, she patted the bed beside her. With a delighted little squeaking sound, the other woman sat and began to remove the hair ties.

Only a few minutes later, Nomad realised that probably hadn't been the best idea. Now she had to walk to the showers with her hair all frizzed out around her head in what did indeed look much like an afro. It didn't help that Covergirl kept fluffing it up.

"Stop it," Nomad said for the hundredth time, slapping the tank jockey's hand away. "I'm gonna go wash it out. Now."

"But it looks so cute!"

"No, it looks hideous," Nomad corrected, but she couldn't help giggling at her reflection in the mirror. "Alright. I'm going."

"Can't I take a photo?"

"No." Nomad grabbed her clothes and left the room.

She was almost to the showers when - naturally - Sci-Fi wandered by. "Nomad! You're back!"

"Clearly." She looked at him, then raised an eyebrow. He was obviously trying very hard not to say something.

"Say it," she sighed. "You know you want to."

"What'd you do, stick your finger in a power outlet?"

"Funny."

He shrugged. "Hey, you said I could. Can I touch it?"

"Oh, for…fine."

Sci-Fi patted her head. "Oh, by the way, thanks a lot."

She frowned. "For what?"

"Look." The laser gunner tugged on the waistband of his uniform.

"Hey, hey, whoa!" She turned away quickly, raising a hand to her eyes.

"Relax, I'm not about to get done for indecent exposure. You can look."

"What am I looking at?" she asked warily.

"Lowlight shot me."

Nomad peeked through her fingers, then laughed out loud as she saw the bruise low on his hip - low enough that she had no doubts it had caused some serious hurt at the time.

Sci-Fi adjusted his pants and scowled. "It's not funny."

"Are you kidding? It's hilarious! I told Covergirl to tell him to get some revenge for me; I didn't think he'd actually listen!"

"Of course he listened, it was _you_ asking," Sci-Fi muttered.

Nomad didn't quite know what he meant by that, so she let it go. "Well, we're even now."

"Even? I don't think so. _You_ didn't almost lose an important part of your anatomy."

She couldn't help herself; she burst out laughing again.

Eventually, of course, he joined in. Unless he had a target in the sights of his laser rifle, Sci-Fi didn't know how to stay serious for too long. "Alright, I better get to training. Good to have you back."

"Thanks, Sci-Fi."

He headed off. Pretty soon, everyone would have some kind of mental image of an afro-haired Nomad. She sighed, resigned to the fact, then satisfied herself with the thought of Lowlight shooting him.

The sniper had done that just for her. It was kind of…sweet. In a slightly scary sort of way.

* * *

Once she'd washed her hair and got it straight again, she went straight to the garbage disposal and threw out her civilian clothes - except the shoes. She still liked the shoes, and apart from her combat boots and dress shoes, she didn't have any other pairs.

Hawk had given her the day off. It was still early - just before ten - and she already didn't know what to do with herself. Dammit, what the hell was she gonna do _tomorrow_?

She found her feet automatically heading for the mess hall. There was usually somebody to talk to in there - or at least, some conversations to listen in on.

"KP _again_?" Nomad asked, grinning as she walked up to the bench.

Heckle and Jeckle both looked up. "Haven't seen _you _for a while. Nope, not KP," Heckle answered smugly. "We got 'moted."

Nomad raised an eyebrow. "Uh…'moted'?"

"Well, we weren't sure if kitchen staff was a _pro_motion or a _de_motion, so we're playing it safe and just saying the last part," Jeckle explained.

"Okay. That…makes sense?"

Heckle sniggered. "Does to us."

Jeckle rolled her eyes. "But that doesn't mean it does to anyone else," she pointed out.

"Just think of us as mini-Roadblocks." Heckle glanced at her friend. "XXXS Roadblock, in your case."

"Shut up," Jeckle retorted.

Chuckling to herself, Nomad pushed away from the bench and scanned the room, then grinned as she saw a broad, familiar back.

She strode over and took a seat beside Deep Six. "Hi," she said sweetly.

He turned his head to her and nodded, his eyes lingering a moment on her bruised face, then went back to staring intently into his glass of water.

Ah, Deep Six. She'd missed annoying the hell out of him.

"Hello, Nomad, how are you?" she answered for him. "Fine thanks, and you? Oh, I'm fine, and isn't the weath - alright, alright!" She sniggered, but shut her mouth as the diver clenched his jaw. "Sorry."

He gave a slight shrug.

After a few minutes, she broke the silence again. "Aren't you even gonna ask what happened?"

"No."

"Okay…so, have you heard any stories about me?" She figured he would've at least overheard one.

"Yep."

"Don't you wanna know -"

She shut her mouth nervously as Deep Six looked at her, his face unreadable. Then he turned away, hunching his shoulders. "It's none of my business."

"Hey, I offered."

"Scars are scars. They all look the same."

"I…well, that's true. Hey, did they tell you Sci-Fi shot me in the ass?"

"Yep."

She sighed, then brought up the one thing she'd found that he might actually like talking about. "So, the S.H.A.R.C. When do I get to go for a ride in it?"

* * *

After sitting with Deep Six for a while (she didn't convince him to take her for a ride in the flying submarine) she went outside to watch some of the greenies suffer Beachhead's wrath. The big man spared her a gruff 'welcome back' as the greenshirts did push ups, then he went straight back to terrifying them.

Nomad chuckled to herself, glad that - for once - it wasn't her on the receiving end of Beach's lungpower.

She'd come to the conclusion a little while ago that Beachhead wasn't _all_ bad. Sure, he was big and loud and actually quite scary sometimes, but there were a couple of instances - both related to Guatemala - when he'd surprised her. The first was when he'd told Rock 'n' Roll off for staring at her scars. The second was in the C-130, coming home; Covergirl had told Nomad that Beach had tried to stop Rock 'n' Roll talking about her.

Those two moments had stuck with her. Of course, she had no preconceived notions that one day Beachhead would be openly friendly - in fact, Nomad was pretty sure he only tolerated her because of Covergirl. Still…he couldn't be all that bad, if the ex-model could put up with him for so long.

"Ah didn't say you could stop!" Beach shouted at the greenshirts. "Start again! One! Two!" He glanced sideways at Nomad. "You keep standin' there, ah'm gonna make you run the course."

"I have the rest of the day off. Hawk said so," she answered smugly.

"Well go an' have the day off somewhere else; I got greenies to beat inta shape."

She rolled her eyes. "You're a real charmer."

"Ah ain't here to be no one's friend," he pointed out.

"Do you even know what 'friend' means?" she taunted.

Beachhead glared. "You want a matchin' bruise on your _other_ eye?"

"I'm telling Covergirl you threatened me." Nomad smiled innocently up at the sergeant major.

He narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," she challenged, then a sudden movement caught her attention. "Uh…one of your greenshirts just collapsed."

Beachhead swore, spinning and striding over to the exhausted guy, who was lying flat on his face. Poor sucker. Nomad didn't wait around to see what would happen - she didn't want to see the guy's face if Beach washed him out.

She wandered back inside, checking her watch. She swore under her breath. It was 11.30 and she was already getting itchy feet. She need something to do - at least until Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll knocked off for lunch.

Maybe Mutt was around. Nomad wondered if she could convince him to let her play - no, 'train' - with Junkyard.

Instead, she found Shipwreck lounging around in the rec room. He convinced her to play pool with him - he blatantly let her win, just so he could stand back and check out her ass while she leaned over the table - until it was time to go meet Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll and head over to the Snack Bar.

True to his word, Clutch shouted her lunch, and they sat at a table by the window. Apparently, the presence of two large, grease-covered men offended some of the chaplains' assistants. Nomad clearly heard one of them - she thought she heard his friend call him Percy - complaining about the 'motor pool louts always coming in here smelling of engine oil and being all rowdy'.

She sniggered. "Hear that, Clutch? You're a lout."

"Hey, you're motor pool too, Nomad," he pointed out.

Unfortunately, the three of them then heard Percy go on to say 'how a nice-looking girl like that' shouldn't be hanging around with the motor pool louts.

Nomad stretched and yawned loudly, peering over at the assistants and making sure they got a good look at her black eye.

"Gee, Nomad, that fight you got in before was pretty impressive," Rock 'n' Roll said loudly.

"You fucking bet it was," she replied, winking at Percy.

He and his friend glanced at each other, then got up and left.

* * *

She managed to find things to keep herself busy for the rest of the day; she and Scarlett watched Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow spar for a while - the redhead whispered quietly that the ninjas always trained just that little bit harder when they had an audience; she went back to the infirmary and chatted to the guys in there; and, much to the disgust of everyone who knew she actually had the day off, she spent a couple of hours in the training room.

After that, she and Mutt played 'piggy-in-the-middle' with Junkyard, tossing the tennis ball until the dog plopped down on his haunches and refused to move until Mutt offered him a few treats. Nomad noticed he kept treats in several of his pockets, along with a couple of squeaky toys.

Unluckily for Nomad, Mutt then volunteered her for training - which involved dressing her up in padded clothes, telling her to 'run like hell', and then setting Junk after her. Alternately, Mutt told her to attack him, which she did with glee until the dog sank his teeth into her protective gear and yanked her to the ground, thrashing his head back and forth. Even through the padding, the pressure of Junkyard's jaws was incredible.

Mutt seemed to have a little too much fun watching the dog try to rip chunks out of her. Nomad, on the other hand, couldn't believe how such a normally sweet dog could be so vicious on command. It was like he turned into a completely different dog.

"Aw, it's only training," Mutt had explained once the exercise was done. "I raised him from a pup, ya know, his instincts are to protect me. You wanna run the obstacle course with him?"

"Yeah!"

* * *

"Well, if that ain't damn near one o' the funniest sights I've ever seen…"

Nomad looked up as Shipwreck sat beside her, glancing over at food prep where Heckle, Jeckle and Roadblock were in the middle of a heated discussion. Despite the fact that Roadblock could've picked both greenshirts up at the same time and squished them - Heckle looked like a twig beside him, and the top of Jeckle's head didn't even reach his shoulders - it looked like he was losing.

"It's the sauce," Nomad explained to the sailor. "Roadblock thinks it needs salt, the other two say if people want salt, they can add it themselves."

"This is better than TV," Sci-Fi, on the other side of Nomad, decided.

In the end, Roadblock gave up, waving his hands in exasperation. Heckle and Jeckle turned and bowed to the spectators triumphantly.

Nomad had to hand it to them - they had guts. There were few Joes willing to stand up to Roadblock when it came to food.

She just hoped there was something chocolate on the menu tonight. She'd promised to sneak something into the infirmary for Lowlight - and if she had to go back in there and he didn't have a shirt on…

Well…there be some chocolate around here _somewhere._


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Okay...apologies in advance for this chapter. It's short and fairly predictable, and it feels a little bit rushed to me - it was going to be longer, but it seemed better ending it where I did.

...And I kinda just wanted to get onto the next chapter...

Reviews are awesome. Thanks heaps for 'em!

Oh, and I'd just like to point out that I haven't been skydiving before, so I have no idea what it's like and I made it up as I went. I'm going later this year :D

* * *

"Hey, Heckle, at least you've got the camouflage part right."

Nomad raised an eyebrow at Clutch, then glanced across the stealth-equipped plane at the first of the two probationary Joes.

"Oh? What's that s'posed to mean, exactly?" Heckle retorted.

Clutch smirked. "Well, put those goggles on an' stand still, an' the enemy'll mistake you for a stick insect."

Heckle glared. Beside her, Jeckle sniggered, then stopped before she drew attention to herself. Heckle elbowed her anyway, then scowled at Clutch. "You're real funny, smartass."

"I am, aren't I?"

Nomad grinned at the mechanic, realising what he was up to. Heckle and Jeckle had both been on missions in their greenshirt regiment, but this was different. They'd passed the gruelling training program just last week - this was their big test. They were understandably - and obviously - nervous. Clutch was just trying to make them feel better. In his own way.

Nomad didn't think it was working.

After Nomad's undercover mission at 'Robac and Co.' three weeks ago, things had gone fairly quiet on the Cobra front. She'd been on two short, straightforward missions since then. One was a simple trip with a few other Joes to help maintain security and keep the peace at some fancy conference - disguised, of course, as regular army soldiers; the other was to conduct surveillance on a bar suspected to be a Cobra front. She and Shipwreck had spent four nights drinking in that seedy little place, but nothing had come of it, apart from the sailor getting into a brawl. Nomad had tried to break it up until somebody threatened her with a broken bottle. Then, of course, she'd had to…well, she'd used the term 'defend herself' in her report.

She and Shipwreck had both joined Heckle and Jeckle in the kitchen for the next few days. The two - still greenies at the time - had entirely too much fun bossing Shipwreck around. He enjoyed the attention, particularly when it came from Jeckle…and a lot of it had come from Jeckle.

They'd never found out who leaked Nomad's name to Destro and the Baroness. Mainframe and Breaker hadn't been able to find anything on the computers to signify any of the Joe files had been hacked, and none of Nomad's phone calls or texts to Chuckles had been intercepted. Whoever had blown her cover, they'd left no trace at all. Hawk found that troubling, but he admitted that there wasn't much they could do about it unless they could find something…which didn't look likely to happen.

Nomad glanced over at the general. He was up front, talking to Lift Ticket. Just twenty minutes ago he'd called the Joes to a meeting in the briefing room. The Pentagon had received an urgent call from a high-security lab; they were under attack from an unknown force and needed assistance ASAP.

"So what's in this lab, anyway?" Jeckle wondered. The rifle resting across her knees looked too big for her, but she was a crack shot with it.

Flint shook his head. "No idea," he admitted. "It doesn't matter, anyway. All we need to worry about is stopping whoever's trying to get in."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that," he repeated. "You'll get used to it; you get given your orders, you follow your orders and don't ask stupid questions."

"Yes, sir."

Clutch sniggered. "I say we send Jeckle in first, Flint. The enemy won't be looking below their knees."

Jeckle flipped him off. Nomad chuckled; she'd learned quickly.

"_ETA to drop zone, two minutes,_" Lift Ticket advised them.

Hawk joined the Joes in the back. "You all know the plan," he said, looking at each of them in turn. "There's a team of armed guards inside the lab; they know we're on our way. There are civilians in there, too, so pick your targets carefully. Make it quick and clean."

"Yes, sir!" the Joes chorused.

"_One minute, Hawk_."

They all stood and prepared themselves. Nomad pulled the single earphone out of her ear, then yanked the other one out of Clutch's ear and wound the cord around her iPod, setting it on her seat. She checked her assault rifle and clips - then jerked backwards as Flint checked her harness. "Hey," she protested.

"You're set. Check Clutch."

Grinning, Nomad yanked on Clutch's straps. The mechanic groaned. "Careful, Nomad, I'm carryin' gear you ain't, you know."

"Oh, I know. You're good to go, by the way."

Clutch checked Beachhead's harness and gave him the okay, then glanced over his shoulder at her. "Like it rough, huh?"

"Wouldn't you love to know?"

"You bet I -"

Hawk strode past, clearing his throat.

"Sorry, sir," Nomad and Clutch said together.

"Green light!" Ripcord called. "Time to hit the silk!"

At the head of the line, Gung Ho let out a whoop, then leaped out of the plane into the darkness. One by one, the rest of them followed.

Heckle and Jeckle went before Beach.

"Oh, I hate this," Heckle muttered. "This is not _normal_. What sane person willingly jumps out of a plane?"

Jeckle slapped her on the back and moved around her, a broad smile across her face. "What sane person joins G.I Joe?" she pointed out with a laugh. "Yo Joe, or something to that effect!" Turning, she saluted and stepped backwards out the door, letting out a 'yeehaw' that Wild Bill would have been proud of.

Clutch nudged Nomad. "She's almost as gung ho as Gung Ho."

"Scary, isn't it?"

Heckle - holding tightly to the closest fixed object - took a deep breath. She stepped forward, as if she was going to jump…then Nomad saw her eyes flick downwards. She froze. "Ooooh, god…"

Ripcord gestured for her to move aside. "You can go last," he said. "I'll jump with you."

She moaned, but nodded.

Beachhead squeezed past Heckle. "Outta mah way, matchstick, or ah'll push ya out."

Heckle moved before the drill sergeant made good on his threat. Ripcord opened his mouth; Beach waved him off. "Ah know, ah know, no one gets pushed out 'less it's _you_ doin' the pushin'." The sergeant major flung himself from the plane without hesitation, a wild glint in his eyes.

"First name?" Clutch asked, looking sideways at Nomad.

"Not before a jump."

"You're never gonna tell me, are you?"

She grinned and shook her head.

He sighed as he looked out the door. "Well, here goes." He smirked. "You want me to catch you?"

She took a swing at him - he stepped backwards to avoid her fist. "Whoooa!"

That left just her, Ripcord, Heckle and Hawk - and Lift Ticket, of course - in the plane. "You're up next, Cutie," Ripcord said.

She glanced down at the open parachutes drifting toward the ground - as she watched, Clutch's opened up. "About time, Sweetheart."

Unless he was being serious - which was rarely - Ripcord never called her by her codename. After Dusty had told Ripcord how he'd greeted her in the infirmary, it had always been 'Cutie'. Nomad felt it only fair she call him 'Sweetheart' in return. If Lowlight was around, and heard her, he'd shoot her quick look that she couldn't read.

Lowlight was like that - she could never tell what he was thinking, and if she stared at him too long, trying to work him out, he'd either gaze back intensely and she'd have to look away, or he'd give her that sweet, crooked grin of his that she couldn't help smiling back at.

Whenever the sniper looked at her like that, it gave her a buzz.

Kind of like the one she felt now. She backed up to the wall of the plane, then ran and leaped out into the air as far as she could, flinging her arms wide as she plummeted toward the ground. The wind rushed in her ears and tugged at her uniform. Every couple of seconds she glanced at the altimeter strapped around her wrist, beside her watch.

When the time came, she deployed her 'chute, feeling the reassuring jolt on her body as the silk opened, her legs swung down - she spared a thought for the guys at that point - and her fall slowed. For a moment she just relaxed in her harness, watching the ground below and peering into the distance at the stars. This was the best part of skydiving, even in the army - those few moments just after freefall, when all you had to do was wait and watch the ground as you floated down to meet it.

Of course, once you got within firing range, you had to be careful. She automatically adjusted the strap of her rifle so the trigger was within easy reach, then raised her arms and began to guide herself toward the landing zone.

She mistimed and landed hard. "Son of a bitch."

"Well, I _did_ offer to catch you," Clutch said. He began to gather up her parachute while she slipped out of the harness.

She took the bundle from his arms and stashed it in the trees where he pointed, then returned and waited alongside the other Joes. The first half of the team had already headed off; Gung Ho, Steeler, Short Fuse, Grunt - he had possibly the best codename ever - Breaker and Outback were to secure the perimeter. The rest of them - Hawk, Flint, Clutch, Roadblock, Heckle and Jeckle, Nomad, Beachhead and Ripcord would join them and launch the offensive.

"That was awesome!" Jeckle exclaimed excitedly, waving up at Flint. "I _love_ skydiving!"

"Keep it down," Beachhead growled. "Ain't you hearda noise discipline?"

"Sorry, sergeant major, sir."

"Ah ain't no sir."

"Yes si - sergeant major. Sorry, just slipped out."

Nomad sniggered. "So you can stand up to Roadblock, but not Beachhead?" She glanced over at the enormous gourmet chef. He was wielding his heavy machine gun, as usual.

"Aw, everyone knows Roadblock's just a big softie."

Well, that was the description least likely to be used for Roadblock, but Nomad knew it was true. Roadblock would rather be cooking than fighting.

The heavy gunner looked up. "I _heard_ that," he said, but he didn't appear to be concerned for his reputation. A man Roadblock's size didn't have to be concerned about much at all.

"And Beach?" she pressed, looking back down at Jeckle.

"Sergeant Major Beachhead scares the shit out of me," the probationary Joe admitted without hesitation.

"Good," Beach grumbled.

Ripcord and Heckle landed. Poor Heckle looked extremely pale, and Hawk himself had touched ground before she could stand without leaning on Ripcord's shoulder.

Flint looked at her sternly. "No more 'chutes for you."

Rather than look offended, Heckle looked grateful. "Th-thanks, Flint. Urp." She bolted for the trees.

Beachhead sighed and shook his head impatiently as they heard her retching, but didn't say anything when she came back. Ripcord gave her a reassuring smile. "It happens. It's okay. At least you didn't hurl on the way down. I've seen that before; it ain't pretty."

Heckle hiccuped weakly.

"_Hawk, this is Breaker. Do you copy?_"

Hawk keyed his radio. "Go ahead, Breaker."

"_Perimeter's secured, sir. The guards seem to have held up pretty well, but they won't last much longer - the guys on the outside are dug in good. Don't make it more'n twenty or thirty of 'em - looks like they're just gonna wait it out til the guards run outta ammo._"

"Copy that. We're on our way." Hawk looked around at them all. "Move out. Maintain noise discipline -"

Jeckle shifted guiltily and gave a small grin as Beach glared pointedly at her.

"- and keep your eyes open. Beachhead, take point. Flint, you're on drag. The rest of you, spread out."

They moved quickly, but soundlessly. The lab was a short distance away; it was built on a large, private estate, with a long driveway leading up to it. They'd dropped in behind the property to avoid being noticed - even though the plane was equipped with just about every stealth device available, it'd still be seen if it flew directly overhead. Most of the team would circle around to the front of the property, where the enemy assault was focused. Breaker, Steeler and Grunt would sneak in around the back and work their way around, picking off any strays who thought they might get lucky and find a back door open. Most of the Joes were carrying wire cutters; the tall fences surrounding the place wouldn't be a problem.

Unless they were electrified, in which case Short Fuse could fry first.

That wasn't very nice. No, if the fence was electric, Short Fuse would've already…well, shorted it out.

…Though it _would_ be kind of funny if he'd got zapped. Not _seriously_…just a little bit…

The trees ended abruptly at the fence line. Nomad slipped easily from trunk to trunk as she followed the others.

"How come you're so quiet?" Outback whispered, giving a small start as she snuck by him.

"Ten months stuck in the Amazon," she replied, grinning at the survival expert. "I practiced sneaking up on birds."

"Nice."

She thought she heard a certain amount of respect in Outback's voice. "Why's such a big, fancy lab stuck out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Security," Outback answered. He pointed. "Notice the cameras all over the place? Unless the power was cut, I reckon even Snakes and Stormy would have trouble sneakin' up on this place."

"Really?"

"Well…maybe if they didn't have all them pointy things to help 'em."

Hawk signalled for everyone to stop. They spread out in a line just under the trees. From here, they could see the muzzle flashes of both the good guys' and the bad guys' guns.

The lab was three storeys, widely spread, definitely not built with defence in mind despite all the security measures. The face of the main building was open and had already taken a lot of damage. There was another building off to the right, connected by a covered walkway. There was a courtyard between the two, and a car park on the left.

"There's plenty of cover," Flint said, pointing to the courtyard. "Looks like -"

Even Hawk jumped and swore as a blast shook the ground and the entrance of the lab turned to dust. A wave of dark figures hurried into the building.

"They're inside," the general said. "Let's go. Flint, Nomad, secure the entrance. Gung Ho, Short Fuse, aimed cover fire."

Those with wire cutters started snipping as Hawk spoke into the radio. "Breaker, you, Steeler and Grunt get in there and help those guards. We're coming."

"_Already on our way, sir!_"

Jeckle was through first, slipping through the hole Roadblock made before he was even half-finished, then Heckle crawled through.

Nomad quickly made her own hole and dumped the wire cutters in favour of her rifle, then sprinted for the entrance alongside Flint. Glass shattered not far away - she heard the whine of bullets, a burst of fire from behind her, and then a short scream from the window.

Flint got to the entrance before her and disappeared inside, heading left. Nomad switched her rifle to short-burst fire on the run, then leaped over the rubble, squinting through the still-falling dust. She skidded on the loose debris and went down painfully on one knee, but still managed to get a shot off at the blue-clad guy turning to look at her, eyes narrowed. He dropped and didn't get back up.

"Cobra," Flint said coldly, rolling a dead one over with his foot. "Shoulda known."

One look at his face told her how he'd got his name. "What would they want here?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Dunno. Looks like they took out most of the guards in the blast."

Nomad glanced around, noticing for the first time the number of bodies on the floor. Three of them wore blue; the rest wore a nondescript uniform of white shirt and black pants. A couple of them were burning.

The others joined them. "Two teams," Hawk ordered quickly, noticing the blue uniforms. "Roadblock, Beachhead, Nomad, Heckle, Jeckle and I will stay here. The rest of you, go in and flush them out. Be careful - we have civilians and three of our boys in there."

They darted quickly back to the barricades the Cobra troops had abandoned - three picnic tables, tipped onto their sides, and a few cars rolled over from the car park. Roadblock and Beachhead squatted behind one of the cars. Nomad leaned against the underside of the picnic table, Hawk on one side, Heckle and Jeckle on the other.

There wasn't much else they could do except wait. "What's in there, Hawk?" Roadblock asked suddenly.

The general shook his head. "I know as much as you do," he admitted.

Nomad frowned. "So you don't know?"

"I'm not told everything, either," Hawk interrupted, giving her a look.

"Sorry, sir. I just thought…never mind."

Gunfire broke out in the building in front of them. Nomad turned and ducked her head around the edge of the table, just in time to see a body in a white coat fell from it. "Shit. Civilian just bought it."

"Nothing we can do about it," the general said. It sounded harsh, but he was right - their job was to wait for the Cobra troops to come running out.

Nomad sneakily looked at the general. This was the first time she'd gone into a mission beside him - and to be honest, he was a little bit scary. Not scary like Beachhead could be, but…intense, scary. Hawk was somebody whose bad side Nomad would _not_ like to be on.

The gunshots ceased, and Breaker's voice crackled over the radio. "_We got 'em, sir. There's only a few of 'em left; they've surrendered._"

"Good work, all of you. Bring 'em out."

Nomad relaxed, then glanced at Heckle and Jeckle. Both looked relieved.

They stood and emerged from their cover. A minute or so later, the Cobra troops filed from the lab, flanked by the other Joes and followed by a group of white-coated scientists. There were three armed guards left among them.

"Hmph," Beachhead grunted. "Maybe now we can find out what this's all 'bout."

Hawk glanced across at the body that had fallen from the window and nodded to Heckle and Jeckle. "Go check," he said. "They might not be dead, just hurt."

"Yes, sir," they chorused, and hurried over.

Flint strode to meet Hawk. "I couldn't find anything on any of them," he advised. "Looks like they couldn't find what they were -"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Nomad spun. She knew that voice.

"All o' ya, drop your weapons," Zarana ordered, shrugging out of her lab coat, "or the geek gets it." She had a gun to a civilian's head - he was whimpering.

Hawk didn't hesitate, placing both his rifle and his .45 handgun on the ground. The other Joes reluctantly followed his lead.

Zarana scanned them, then stopped as her eyes landed on Nomad. She moved forward, dragging the scientist with her.

Nomad wondered if she could get Zarana to point the gun at her rather than the scientist, but Hawk caught her eye and shook his head at her. She kept her mouth shut.

"I should -" Zarana started.

Several shots interrupted her. Immediately, the Joes hit the dirt to grab their weapons. The scientists scattered back into the relative safety of the building.

"Aimed fire! Take them out!" Hawk shouted.

Lying on her belly, Nomad dropped one, shooting him in the back as he ran. Where had those other shots come from?

That could wait. What mattered was Zarana; where had _she_ gone? And what had she stolen?

Nomad rolled onto her back and sat up, only to see Zarana and a second, larger figure running into the darkness. She emptied an entire clip at their retreating backs, but they were out of range already; still, she would have slammed in another clip and kept firing if Gung Ho hadn't put a hand on her arm and shook his head. "Don't bother. Can't shoot 'em if they ain't in range."

Hawk climbed to his feet, taking stock of the situation. "Everyone alright?"

According to the assorted moans and grunts, everyone was in one piece.

"Ripcord, check on the scientists. Flint, Grunt, go back inside and see if you can't figure out what Cobra were doing here." Hawk's sharp eyes flicked around at them all, and he paused. "Where are Heckle and -" He turned. "Goddamn it!"

Gung Ho hauled Nomad to her feet - and as she glanced around, her heart sank.

Jeckle was slumped against the side of the building, hands pressed to her left side, just under her ribs. Next to her, Heckle was sprawled on the ground, a big, dark stain spread across her chest.

The only sign of the body they'd been checking was a white coat - that had to be who the second person was.

Hawk skidded to a stop and leaned over Heckle. Roadblock was right behind him, kneeling beside Jeckle.

"Oh, no," Clutch breathed, coming to stand beside Nomad.

Hawk turned. "Breaker, we -"

"Already on it, Hawk!" Breaker answered. "Wild Bill, we need a medivac, pronto!"

"_Be there in a jiff, folks. Just hold on, we'll get y'all home._"

Breaker looked up at Hawk. The general looked back, and shook his head slowly.

Nomad cursed angrily. Clutch let out a long breath. Beachhead violently kicked at the already trampled flowers in the garden.

Breaker closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "Not this time, Bill. Not all of us."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

New chapter! And I already have the next one half done! Go me. Next chapter _might_ see Lowlight gettin' a little lovin'. Be warned. :D

Or it might not. I'll have to wait and see how it turns out.

Thanks for reading, as always. Hope this chapter's not too annoying!

* * *

The flight back to Joe HQ was quiet. Neither Nomad nor Short Fuse complained when they got stuck sitting next to each other - they just looked at each other for a moment and made a silent agreement: now was not the time for petty arguments.

Clutch sat on her other side. He hadn't been far away since Hawk had given that slow shake of his head. Nomad thought she might know why; Clutch was one of the very few people she'd told what had happened to her old team (she still didn't quite know how _that_ had happened). She appreciated his concern, if that was what it was, but it was getting to her - she was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.

Heckle was dead. She'd been shot in the chest four times, point-blank. The rounds had blown her back wide open; one had shattered her spine. Her blood had pooled on the ground, and the fucker who'd shot her had stepped in it as he ran.

Jeckle had still been alive when Lifeline had leapt two metres straight down out of Wild Bill's Tomahawk, his medical kit banging against his leg, and sprinted for her. All Nomad could do was watch as Doc followed, and then two greenshirts had brought out the stretchers and a blanket - and a long, black bag. All she could do was watch as they zipped Heckle into the bag with as much respect as they could, then slid the stretcher onto the floor of the chopper. All she could do was watch as Lifeline and Doc rushed to bandage Jeckle, then gently strapped her to the second stretcher.

And all she'd done was watch as Zarana and the guy had run away.

"Nomad?"

"Huh?"

Clutch was looking down at her. She glanced around to see that the chopper - Lift Ticket had arrived not long after Wild Bill - had landed and everyone was climbing out. She slowly got to her feet.

"Wait a sec," he said, grabbing her arm. "I know that look."

"What look?" she asked, keeping her face carefully blank.

He rolled his eyes. "_That_ look. An' that tone. I'm not entirely clueless - whatever you're thinkin', there's nothin' any of us coulda done. You hear me?"

She sighed, hating to admit that he was right. "I know, but -"

He didn't let her dwell on it, pulling her out of the chopper. "Come on. Sooner we get to the debrief, the sooner everyone can find out how Jeckle's doin'."

* * *

It was Zartan who'd killed Heckle. When Roadblock got to Jeckle, she'd been trembling with shock, but she'd managed to cough out the words; the guy's face had changed, right in front of her eyes. Zartan the shapeshifter - he used holographic devices to disguise himself, changing his appearance at will. He must've disguised himself as a scientist, then used the firefight between the Cobra troops, the security guards and the Joes as a diversion.

As he said the man's name, Roadblock's eyes went hard and he cracked his knuckles. Heckle and Jeckle had endeared themselves to him; probably more so than anyone else, as they spent so much time in the kitchen. He'd taken them under his considerably large wing.

Nomad understood. He wanted to rip Zartan apart. She'd felt the same about Goldilocks.

The debriefing was short, but what came up was particularly unnerving. Flint had discovered what the scientists had been working on. Nobody, not even Hawk, asked how he'd managed to find out. Nobody really cared.

The scientists had been developing a brand new neurotoxin. Zartan and Zarana had stolen the formula for it. There were no doubts that Cobra Commander would soon have the formula…and when he did, he'd immediately have Dr. Mindbender start producing it.

Needless to say, this - combined with the knowledge the Destro and the Baroness had made a new arrangement with the Commander - was extremely worrying. The only good thing about it was that the scientists had also provided the Joes with the formula, and procuring what they needed would take Cobra a considerable time; even if they could find a supplier, the components of the formula weren't cheap.

They had time. It wasn't much, but hey…it was better than nothing.

* * *

"Who are they?"

Nomad jumped and swore, slamming the laptop shut as she looked around. "Lowlight! Son of a - goddamn it, will you people _never_ stop sneaking up on me?"

Lowlight gave her an apologetic shrug. "I called. Didn't you hear me?"

Nomad glared indignantly. "Clearly not."

"Sorry." Lowlight paused. "Listen…I just came from the infirmary."

Nomad sat up straighter. "Any news on Jeckle?"

The sniper shook his head, walking around the couch and easing himself onto the floor so he could lean against it. "Doc and Lifeline are taking turns watching her. She's still unconscious, but Lifeline says the bleeding's stopped. They can give her transfusions now without her losing it all straight away."

"So…"

"That's a good thing," Lowlight explained patiently, leaning his head back on the cushion to look up at her. "You didn't answer my question."

After debriefing - which hadn't made Nomad feel any better, even when Gung Ho had pointed out that there was no way she could've stopped Zartan and Zarana - she, Clutch and Roadblock had all but stampeded for the infirmary, only to be stopped by a harried-looking greenshirt intern. Lifeline and Doc were too busy working on Jeckle to answer questions - and all the intern could say was that, for the moment, she was still in a critical condition. The poor guy had cringed away from Roadblock at that point, but the big man had just said a quiet 'thank you' and turned away.

Disappointed, they'd returned to the mess hall and delivered the news to the rest of the team. Beachhead, quite uncharacteristically, got up silently and stalked out.

Nomad had wondered aloud at that.

"You'd never think it - and he'd never show it - but he takes it hard," Flint said as they sat down to coffee. "He grinds them into the dirt to make sure they have the skills to keep themselves alive. If we lose someone…he kinda takes it personally. Wonders if maybe he could've pushed them harder, taught them more. He couldn't. He's a hard son of a bitch, but he knows his job, and not many could do it better." Flint paused. "Don't tell him I said that."

As the night wore on, one by one the Joes headed off for bed. Soon, Nomad had been the only one still up…but she sure as hell wouldn't be able to sleep. Not tonight. Not even with the help of sleeping pills.

She'd gone and got her laptop, stopping only when Covergirl had woken up and asked what had happened. Nomad had been touched when the ex-model had offered to stay up with her, but she'd told the other woman that there was a bear out on the obstacle course who might need her more. Covergirl had given her a brief - but tight - hug and hurried out, not even bothering to throw a robe over her pyjamas.

Nomad had headed for the rec room, intending to play Solitaire until she conked out, but instead she'd started looking through her photos.

Probably not the smartest thing to do, under the circumstances.

"Hey."

She looked down as Lowlight clicked his fingers in front of her face. "Hmm? Oh, sorry. Just thinking."

"About what?"

The glow from the TV lit his face. An old movie was on - it looked like _Godzilla vs. Mothra_, or something like that. It was Godzilla, in any case - those rubber suits were unmistakable.

Why was he looking at her like that? Could he hear her heart? She bet he could - it was beating fast enough. He was so close…if she wanted to, she could lift a hand and rake her fingers through his hair. Hell, if she wanted to, she could lean down and ki -

Stop that. "How come you're always up so late at night?" she asked, more to distract herself than anything. "You can't like being around me _that_ much."

He grinned. "Maybe I do."

She felt herself flush bright red. "Liar," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "Come on, tell me."

"Why? You didn't answer _my_ question," he repeated.

"Answer mine and I'll answer yours," she said. "Promise."

He looked down, drawing his long legs up to wrap his arms around his knees. "Well, let's just say you aren't the only one around here who has bad dreams."

So her suspicions were correct. She quashed the sudden urge to hug him. "What do you dream about?"

He shrugged. "I used to be scared of the dark when I was a kid. My dad used to make me hunt rats."

Nomad mentally kicked herself. How insensitive could she be? "Shit. I didn't mean - I thought it must've been something from a mission, not…"

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He looked up at her. "Your turn."

"What was your question, again?"

He gestured to the laptop. "Those photos you were looking at."

She grinned at him. "That's not technically a question," she said playfully, giving him a shove.

"Is that your old team?"

Nomad lowered herself to the floor beside him. Her shoulder pressed against his; she knew she should move over, but she didn't. Neither did he.

She got comfortable and set the laptop on the coffee table, opening it. The screen flashed on to the photo she'd been looking at before the sniper had come in and scared her.

"That's my old team," she said proudly, grinning. She remembered this photo being taken. It hadn't been long before the Amazon mission; she was in the middle of the guys, caught in a headlock by Skipper as Matches, Hotshot and Spider pulled stupid faces.

"Looks like you were all close."

"We were," she said, smiling. She pointed to Matches. "Matches was my best friend. We went through basic together. That's Spider and that's Skipper, and Hotshot." She clicked to the next photo; it was a self-portrait of her and Spider with their faces squished close together. She smiled.

"Who's Goldilocks?"

The question caught her off guard. She turned to Lowlight, only to find him giving her that intense stare.

"Uh…I…" Her voice trailed off. She didn't know what to say. Of all the things he could ask, why _that_? Why was he so hung up on it? "Lowlight, I…can't. Not - not that."

He sighed and stood up. "It's okay. Forget I asked. Look, Lifeline said maybe you can drop into the infirmary -" he checked his watch, " - later today. Jeckle might not be awake, but either he or Doc will give you the latest."

Nomad scrambled to her feet, watching him stride to the door. She wanted to call him back, but what would she say.

Dammit, dammit, fucking _damn it_.

"Lowlight!"

He stuck his head around the doorframe, looking at her expectantly.

She waved her arms helplessly. "Anything else," she bargained. "I'll tell you anything else you want to know."

The sniper gave her an even stare. "I'll see you on the range, Nomad."

She waited until she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore before slumping back to the floor.

Dammit.

* * *

The whole base seemed to be on autopilot. News had spread - and in any case, once they saw that Heckle and Jeckle weren't manning food prep, most people realised something was up. Nomad avoided breakfast in the mess hall. Instead, she headed for the infirmary.

Doc, Lifeline and Psyche Out were all in the office. Doc sighed when she stuck her head in the door. "I'm sorry, Nomad, but I can't tell you anything new."

She nodded. "That's okay. Actually…I was looking for Psyche Out. Can I, uh…can I talk to you?"

Well, that certainly got their attention.

The shrink stood immediately. "Really?" He caught himself. "I mean, of course." He guided her to his office with a hand on the small of her back.

"I'm not gonna run away, you know. You can take your hand off."

Psyche Out ran his other hand through his hair and gave her a bashful grin. "Well…I never can tell." He closed the door behind them, and Nomad took a seat in the squishy armchair.

Psyche Out looked at her in concern. "Is everything okay? Is to do with what happened last night, or…"

She nodded. "I'm fine," she assured him. "I just thought I'd come see you before somebody ordered it. Yeah, it's about last night."

"I'm glad you came to me on your own," the psychologist admitted. "You know, I think I'll call this a breakthrough."

"Funny." Nomad gave him a small grin. "You and Zap should have your own comedy act."

"You're stalling," Psyche Out said bluntly.

"...okay. Maybe just a little."

"What did you want to talk about?"

Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea…no. She was here, she might as well get it off her chest. "Psyche, I couldn't do anything. I saw Zarana and Zartan running away, and I couldn't do anything. I mean, I know they were out of firing range, but…"

"It's not your fault," he said firmly.

"I know, but what if -"

"'What if'?" Psyche Out interrupted her. "You can't afford to get hung up on the 'what ifs', Nomad. You _know_ there was nothing you could have done. Last night _or_ in the Amazon."

"I could've told him what he wanted to know before he shot my buddies," she retorted angrily, "and my team wouldn't have died because of…me."

Nomad frowned. How had this turned into yet another discussion about the Amazon? Damn sneaky shrink.

"Is that what you think? They died _because_ of you?"

"This isn't about that. I'm here because of last night, not -" she started.

She fell silent as Psyche Out raised a hand. "Don't you think maybe the two are connected? That you're here because last night's mission reminded you of the Amazon?"

"No, I don't. Because -"

Psyche Out looked at her.

"Dammit." She scowled. "You suck. You know that, right?"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he said lightly, then pressed on. "Your team?"

"They died because they came to get me. Simple as that," she said flatly. "And all I did was watch as he blew them away."

"Why don't you ever say his name?"

Nomad glanced up. "I say his name," she objected.

"No, you don't."

"I don't?" She hadn't noticed that before.

Psyche Out shook his head.

"Oh."

She shouldn't have come. Psyche Out was way too smart for his own good - and for hers. He picked up on too much.

"Okay," he said gently. "We'll leave that for now. Look, how many other missions did you go on with your team?"

"Heaps."

"And would you ever have left one of them behind? Willingly?"

"Of course not!"

He smiled benignly. "Of course not," he repeated.

Nomad opened her mouth, then closed it when she couldn't think of anything to say. Once again, the good doctor was right. Her team had done what any other would have - they'd gone to get one of their own. Nomad would have done exactly the same.

Still…they'd ended up dead, and she was still around.

"So how do you justify four people dying for one?" she asked. "No tricky psychology, either, I want a straight answer for once."

Psyche Out looked at her a long time. "You want me to put it bluntly?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Sometimes the jobs that are supposed to be the simplest turn out to be the ones that screw up the worst." He held his hands up. "Don't get angry, you asked me to be straightforward with you."

"I'm not getting angry. Who said I was getting angry?" Nomad smirked. "Is there something we should discuss, Psyche Out?"

"Very funny," he said dryly. "You can join me and Zap when we do our routine."

"No thanks."

Psyche Out smiled. "Look…I just think you take too much weight on your shoulders. You couldn't have known Goldilocks was corrupt."

She didn't mention the look that Matches had given her, just before things had gone to hell; the look that told her he suspected something was up. She couldn't deal with it right now. Maybe next time.

"And last night? You couldn't have known it was Zartan. All you saw was a guy in a lab coat falling from a window, right?"

"I guess…"

Psyche Out heard the doubt in her voice. "Look, it's only human to be upset. You're not a robot -"

"That'd be kind of cool if I was, though." Oops. Wrong thing to say around a psychologist.

Psyche Out raised an eyebrow. "And we'll discuss _that_ next time," he decided with a chuckle.

"I just meant it'd be cool like in a comic book kind of way! Not like, no emotions, or anything."

Actually, that did sound good…

"That was a joke, Nomad."

"Oh. Right," she said stupidly. "I knew that. Hey, save it for your act."

He laughed, then got serious again. "But anyway, you're not the only one who was there last night."

She knew that. Of _course_ she hadn't been the only one there…so…

So, she sure as hell wouldn't have been the only one frustrated by Zartan and Zarana's escape. Right? Gung Ho had been right there beside her, watching them run - and hadn't she heard it in his voice, when he told her to stop shooting? Hadn't he been angry, too?

Psyche Out smiled again as he studied her face. Apparently, he'd seen the lightbulb flick on.

"Why can't you just say things outright?" she complained, standing up. Some of the weight that the shrink had been talking about seemed to have lifted.

"Because none of you would listen to me if I did," he retorted. "This kind of stuff: you have to work it out for yourself. I'm just…the notepad that you do all your working out on."

"Aw, you're more than just a notebook, Psyche. Thanks."

"Anytime. Except for those ridiculously late - or should I say early? - hours of the night you're so fond of."

Chuckling to herself, she waved over her shoulder as she walked out of the shrink's office.

As she passed the medical office, Doc opened the door and stuck his hand out, holding a lollipop.

"You spoil me, Doc," she said.

"No, just buttering you up so you won't complain at your next exam."

"Figures." She peered into the main room - there was a curtain drawn around one of the beds.

Doc shook his head. "No change in the ten minutes since you last checked."

She sighed. "Can't you -"

"You'll all hear as soon as there's any new developments," Doc said firmly, "but you can't all keep coming down here every few minutes! Next person who comes in get a shot in the ass."

"I'll warn everyone except Clutch," she said with a snigger, moving on.

The infirmary door opened just as she reached it. "Hey, I wouldn't go in there, Doc's getting kinda pissed -"

General Hawk eyed her.

"- but I'm sure he'll make an exception for you, sir," Nomad finished smoothly.

"Good to know," Hawk replied dryly.

The man looked tired. His face was drawn and a little paler than usual. "You okay, sir?"

"Don't you worry about me," he said, holding the door for her. "How're _you_ holding up?"

"I just came from seeing Psyche Out," she admitted. "I'll get there."

"That's what I like to hear." Hawk glanced toward Doc and Lifeline's office.

"Well, I have some hand-to-hand to get to," Nomad said quickly, taking the hint. "Uh…not to sound out of line, sir, but you look like you could use some sleep."

The general raised an eyebrow at her.

"Right. Going now."

* * *

The atmosphere in the Pit was subdued - even Clutch was quieter than usual when he, Rock 'n' Roll and Steeler joined Nomad, Covergirl and Beachhead at lunch. Nomad couldn't help but stare at the amount of food on Beachhead's plate. It was rare to see him eating in the mess hall - he usually grabbed a plate and ate elsewhere - but today Covergirl had convinced him to join them.

"What're you lookin' at?" he asked gruffly, glaring at Nomad past his stunning girlfriend.

"I'm not sure. Is it the whole lunch menu?"

Covergirl sniggered. "Not quite. He skipped the salad bar."

"Don't encourage 'er, Covergirl, she's got a smart 'nuff mouth as it is."

Nomad, grinning slightly, turned her attention back to her own salad. "I'll take that as a compliment."

A low rumble came from deep in Beachhead's chest and he took off approximately a quarter of his burger in one bite.

Nomad hesitated before bringing up what had been on her mind since that morning. "Hey…I saw Hawk this morning."

"Yeah?" Covergirl asked.

"He looked tired."

She nodded. "He would've had to do a lot of paperwork last night. And the…letter."

'The letter'; the one all family members of enlisted troops dreaded - the one that told them their son or daughter, husband or wife, father or mother, wouldn't be coming home. Nomad imagined having to write a letter like that. If she'd had the chance - if she hadn't been in an induced coma for three weeks - she would have written four of them.

She often wondered what would have been written in hers.

"I don't envy him," Steeler said. "I couldn't do it."

"That's because you have the emotional capacity of a slug," Covergirl said airily.

"Beach has done some, and he has less than me."

Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll leaned away from the sandy haired man.

"Maybe so," Beach said with a shrug, "but at least ah got some tact."

"Does Hawk write all of them?" Nomad asked. It was a morbid topic, especially when they were eating, but she was curious.

"Yep. He'll write mine, an' yours, an' Covergirl's…" Beach took a moment to shove the last of his burger into his mouth. Nomad was sure he swallowed it whole, but at least he didn't talk with his mouth full - unlike a certain hairy blonde mechanic sitting across from her. "Not sayin' any of us'll bite the dust anytime soon…hell, ah hope not, anyway," Beach continued. "But it don't matter who it is - greenie or Joe - Hawk'll write the letter."

Well…there was an oddly comforting thought.

* * *

The rest of the day dragged on slowly. Nomad hadn't been looking forward to her session on the firing range, but Lowlight made no mention of their conversation in the rec room. In fact, it was as if it had never happened.

She didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed.

Still, it felt good to be out running around in the trenches, trying to avoid paintballs from Leatherneck, Wetsuit, Sci-Fi and the sniper himself. She had the feeling that was what Lowlight had in mind - an active training session that'd take their minds off things.

In the end, they'd all joined forces and ganged up on poor old Leatherneck. The big, gruff Marine had come out of the training session absolutely dripping with paint, grumbling. Sci-Fi clapped him on the shoulder, then chased Nomad around, trying to smear paint across her face. He succeeded, but only because Lady Jaye and Flint had been walking past and she'd tried to take cover behind them. The traitors had grabbed her and held her still until Sci-Fi planted his hand right in her face. Looking in the mirror before she'd showered, she'd reminded herself of Dusty, only with bright blue, green, yellow and red instead of dull, deserty colours.

That had been the best part of the whole day…until dinner, when Lifeline made an announcement to the mess hall in general: Jeckle was now in a stable condition. She still hadn't woken up, but things were starting to look good.

* * *

It was another two days before Jeckle regained consciousness, and another day after that until they were allowed see her. Even then, Lifeline and Doc were stingy with the visiting hours - apparently, they hadn't wanted to let people in, but the wounded woman had talked them into it.

Nomad knew she should go see Jeckle, but she kept finding ways to put it off. Training, PT, hand-to-hand - things just kept coming up. Jeckle had plenty of company, anyway. Roadblock was a regular, as was Shipwreck. Hell, even Beachhead had been to see her. Once.

It was just…it was too close. Nomad knew what it was like being stuck in a bed, staring up at the roof and memorising every single tiny mark on it because it hurt too much to move, living through a haze of morphine.

She was being selfish. She just didn't want to be reminded of what she'd been through herself. She knew it - she didn't even need Psyche Out to tell her that.

"Up an' at 'em, kiddo. Let's go."

Nomad glanced up to see Lady Jaye looking down at her, hands on her hips. "Where?" As if she didn't know.

"To the infirmary."

"Uh - but I…"

"Nope, no more excuses. You made excuses all day yesterday. You're avoiding it, and don't think we don't know why, because we do."

"You do?"

"Uh huh." Lady Jaye nodded.

"Really?"

"Yep."

Nomad groaned and ran a hand over her face, trying to hide her dismay. "Great."

Lady Jaye took pity on her. "Look, we get it. It brings back some pretty bad memories for you, right?" she said. "Jeckle gets it, too." She shook Nomad's shoulder gently, grinning. "I'm just sick of seeing you look guilty every time somebody says Jeckle's name."

Nomad frowned. "Jaye, I don't think…I mean, what if -" She stopped herself there, remembering Psyche Out's views on 'what if'. "I just don't think I'd be the best person to have around."

"Are you kidding?" Lady Jaye gave her a look of disbelief. "You're hopeles_s._ Come on, let's go."

"But -"

"Come _on_."

"Oh…okay…"

Lady Jaye kept a tight grip on Nomad's arm all the way down to the infirmary, and only let go once Doc opened the office door. He took one look at Nomad's face and smiled slightly. "Ten minutes," he said firmly. "And don't you go waking her up if she's asleep."

Jaye threw him an indignant look, then quietly dragged Nomad over to the privacy curtain drawn around Jeckle's bed. Nomad peeked through.

Jeckle was lying flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes flicked over. "Do you know how boring this is?"

"I have a fair idea," Nomad said, shuffling aside to make room for Lady Jaye - only Lady Jaye wasn't there. Nomad looked around to see her disappearing into the office.

Dammit…they'd planned this all along.

Jeckle rolled her head to the side to look at Nomad. "Lifeline won't even put any pictures up there for me," she complained, pointing to the roof with her right hand. Her left stayed firmly by her side. "I asked."

"Well, you know Lifeline." Nomad smirked. "I'm sure one of the ninjas would be happy to oblige, even if it's just to spite him."

"Can you ask one of them for me? They make me nervous."

Nomad chuckled. Jeckle had a habit of saying what was on her mind. "I'll do that."

"Thanks."

Nomad glanced around awkwardly, looking at the flowers and the small 'Get Well Soon' balloon on the bedside table. "Uh…so…how do you feel?"

"It's not so bad. Lifeline and Doc keep me doped up." Jeckle gave an embarrassed grin. "Apparently I swore at Beachhead."

"We _all_ swear at Beachhead."

"Not to his face, you don't."

Nomad had to admit, that was a valid point. "What did you say?"

"I don't remember it, but Covergirl said I called him a 'big, loud, smelly bastard'."

"Oh. Well, that's not so bad."

"He said he'd run me into the dirt when I'm better. Hey…can I ask you something?"

Nomad hesitated only slightly before saying, "Go for it."

"How long were you stuck in hospital?" Jeckle waved vaguely.

She didn't even have to think about it. "Two months, all up," she answered. "Three weeks of that I was in a coma. But don't worry," she added hurriedly, "I doubt you'll be in here that long. Doc and Lifeline got to you pretty quick. I walked for a couple days before I got medical attention."

Jeckle's eyes widened. "Why? How far did you walk?"

Nomad swore to herself - she hadn't meant to let that slip. Oh well, too late now. "I made a promise to somebody. It wasn't that far; a few miles, maybe."

"Did you keep your promise?"

She'd told Matches she'd get him home - either way. She'd done that. "I guess I did."

Jeckle lowered her eyes for a moment. "Um…would you mind…"

She'd never seen Jeckle lost for words - the woman would talk underwater. "Would I mind what?" Nomad pressed.

"It's just…nobody talks about Heckle," Jeckle said hesitantly. "But I kinda think I need to."

Nomad shifted uncomfortably as a tear ran down the side of the other woman's face. Emotions weren't her strong suit - unless it was anger, of course.

Still…she should at least _try_, right?

"Psyche Out would _love_ you," she said, grinning.

* * *

Twenty minutes later - Doc had never come to kick Nomad out after her ten minute time limit - the curtain pulled back. Nomad turned in her seat to see Hawk peering in at them.

"Hi, General," Jeckle said.

"How's the patient?" the general asked with a small smile.

"Not bad, considering, sir."

Hawk looked at Nomad pointedly.

"Well, I'd better get going," she said, taking the hint. "I'll catch you later, Jeckle."

"Thanks. I mean it; that helped."

Hawk pulled the curtain closed again after Nomad passed him. She headed straight for the office, where Lady Jaye was leaning against the wall, chatting to Doc and Psyche Out.

"Why do I get the feeling that was _your_ idea?" Nomad asked the psychologist.

"_What_ was all my idea?" he asked, far too innocently.

"Getting me in here to talk to her," Nomad answered. "And Jaye was in on it."

Lady Jaye pointed to herself with a questioning look.

"_Yes_, you."

Psyche Out shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about, Nomad. Should we discuss this sudden paranoia you seem to have developed?"

"Discuss this," she said, flipping him off, then she smiled and shook her head. "Seems to me like you won't have to worry too much about Jeckle. Then again, I'm not a shrink." She glanced at her watch. "Shit, I'm late for hand-to-hand. Snakes'll make me test dummy."

* * *

Snakes did indeed make her the test dummy. She spent most of the time flying through the air and hitting the mat with a loud _smack_. Sniggers from her fellow Joes often followed.

After the lesson, Nomad hobbled wearily into the mess hall, intending to grab a quick meal, then hit the showers, take a couple of pills and go to bed early for a change. She found the hall more crowded than she'd ever seen it. Just about all the tables were full - almost all of the Joes at HQ were present.

Lowlight waved her over. She picked her way through the tables - smacking Rock 'n' Roll over the head when he didn't move his legs and she had to step over them - and sat between the sniper and Airtight, the hostile environment expert.

She didn't really know Airtight; she'd only talked to him twice. The first time, he'd been eating a tomato and peanut butter sandwich. The second time he'd been holding a jar with a very large, fat scorpion in it that Dusty had brought back from the desert for him. Apparently, he had a collection.

Nomad hadn't bothered to ask. She was getting used to weird things in G.I Joe.

"Did I miss an announcement, or something?" she wondered. "What's going on?"

Lowlight nodded toward food prep. Nomad turned to see Hawk leaning against the bench, scanning the room.

A few minutes later, the general cleared his throat. The sound was amplified through the PA system; Hawk was wearing a headset. Anyone who couldn't get to the mess hall would still hear him. Whatever he had to say, it must be important. "Okay everyone, listen up."

The mess hall went quiet. All eyes were on Hawk.

"I know I don't have to tell you what happened last week," he said, "but I'll say it anyway: we lost one of our own."

Several Joes shifted - glancing around, Nomad saw Lifeline hang his head. Surprisingly, Beachhead was the one who clapped him on the shoulder and leaned in to say something. Doc wasn't around; he was probably with Jeckle in the infirmary.

"We all knew Heckle," Hawk continued. "She liked to have fun; Cross Country can attest to that."

Cross Country, his red hair visible at a table on the far side of the mess hall, gave a sad little grin and nodded, leaning over to Crankcase to say something.

"I'd like to let you all know that the funeral will be in two days."

Lowlight nudged Nomad. "You gonna go?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "I think I will, if nothing comes up. I've…there's some other people I'd like to visit, too."

"Want me to go with you?"

She looked at him, surprised. "Uh…" She was about to say no, but then changed her mind. "If you want. I…wouldn't mind the company."

Lowlight smiled at her. She blushed and looked quickly back at Hawk, ignoring the knowing grin Airtight was casting over her head at the sniper.

Hawk looked around, then continued. "I know Heckle wouldn't have wanted a fuss, so I'll keep it short. In the paperwork she filed just after passing the Joe training, she left me a note. She requested a song to be played at her funeral, if she didn't make it." He smiled to himself. "She threatened to haunt the Pit forever if I don't play it."

Soft laughter rippled throughout the hall. Nomad chuckled; that was Heckle for you.

"As a mark of respect to her family, I can't do that. But because I don't want to run the risk of having Heckle's ghost floating around, I'll do it now. All I ask is that we all listen, and take a moment to remember the young woman who gave her life for us. Breaker, take it away."

Breaker's voice came back through the speakers overhead. "_Yes, sir. Heckle…this one's for you. Please don't haunt us_."

There was a short moment before the song started playing…and when it did, Nomad couldn't help but laugh. She wasn't the only one. Lowlight snorted, Shipwreck rolled his eyes with a grin, Roadblock shook his head.

Heckle had requested '_Highway to Hell_'.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Okay, to start off with, I'd just like to say I'm sorry. I'm not too good at writing mush. And there's a little bit of mush in this chapter. I felt it was time for some mush.

I just got a couple of the G.I Joe Origins comics. I'm so jealous of people who can draw. It's not fair. Wish I could draw, heh heh. Origins isn't too bad, actually, but I still like the old comics.

Unfortunately, I'm kinda stuck for ideas now. I know what I want to happen - it's just actually _getting_ it to happen that's the problem.

Again, thanks everyone for reading and reviewing. Hope this chapter doesn't put you off! :P

* * *

Nomad wound her dark ponytail into a bun and stuck a few pins in to hold it in place, then shoved the stupid little hat on her head. She eyed herself critically in the mirror and adjusted the hat slightly. There; that was better.

Wait. A lock of hair had come loose at the front. She turned her head from side to side, liking what she saw - any other occasion, she might have left it like that, but not today. She tucked the hair back with a sigh.

It was the day of the funeral. Nomad was already in dress greens, feeling like an idiot in her knee-length skirt and jacket. It was the first time she'd had to wear her formal uniform since becoming a Joe - and it was already annoying her. The shirt and jacket felt tight and restrictive across her shoulders; she'd bulked up a little since being on an active roster. She adjusted her tie.

Well…it would have to do. Any longer, and she'd be late. She didn't want to be the one who kept everyone waiting.

That, and Hawk had threatened anyone who wasn't ready to go on time with a month of both KP _and_ double PT. With one last glance in the mirror, Nomad turned and strode out of the bathroom, heading back to her room.

She opened the door to see Covergirl quickly closing the small overnight bag on the bed, looking extremely pleased with herself. The bag was Lady Jaye's, but Nomad had asked if she could borrow it - all she had was her rucksack, which was far too big to take for an overnight stay.

"What have you done?" Nomad asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Covergirl looked back at her sweetly. "Nothing," she said, batting her long eyelashes.

She'd definitely done something. "The hell you didn't," Nomad retorted. "What'd you do to my stuff?" She went to open the bag.

"I didn't do anything!" the other woman said defensively. "You'll be late if you unpack now." She grabbed the bag, shoved it into Nomad's hand and gave her the once over. "Hang on. One more thing."

Without bothering to ask permission, Covergirl pulled open one of the drawers in Nomad's bedside table and rummaged through it. "Where are those shorts…?"

Realising what she was after, Nomad shook her head. "No."

"Found it!" Covergirl brandished the tissue-wrapped Medal of Honour triumphantly.

"Covergirl -"

The former model stepped forward and pinned the medal onto Nomad's jacket, ignoring her complaints. "You should wear it."

"But I -" Nomad sighed, giving up. She didn't have time to argue - she could always take the medal off and shove it in her pocket later. "Oh…fine, I'll wear it."

"Good." Covergirl put her hands firmly on Nomad's shoulders, spun her around and marched her out the door. "And no taking it off later."

Dammit…Covergirl knew her too well. Nomad sighed. "Are you gonna tell me what you did, or do I have to worry all the way to the hotel?"

Covergirl sniggered. "Relax. All I did was repack for you."

"Why?" Nomad protested. An even more horrible thought struck. "_What_ did you repack for me?"

"Clothes."

"There was nothing wrong with what I packed," she said indignantly.

"_You_ packed your fatigues. I packed _real _clothes. Remember when me and Jaye and Scarlett took you shopping?"

"How could I forget?" Nomad grumbled, remembering just how long she'd been dragged back and forth between clothing racks.

"Well, we didn't make you buy all those clothes just so they could stay in your _closet_ and look good."

"It's not like I need to wear them around base," Nomad pointed out.

"You could when you're not on duty."

"I like my fatigues. They're comfy." She felt Covergirl's sigh on her neck.

The former model leaned around and winked at her. "Maybe you could _try_ to look nice? Lowlight _is_ going with you, isn't he?"

Nomad threw the other woman an irritated glance. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Covergirl took a moment to push a pin back into Nomad's hair, then turned her around so they were face to face. Nomad had to look up slightly; Covergirl was taller. "Come on. It's obvious."

Nomad felt herself going red, but tried to deny it anyway. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The bombshell rolled her eyes. "Don't play dumb with me. We've all seen how you two are when you're together."

"Then you've all been imagining things."

"Nomad, if Wayne picks up on it, it's not imaginary."

"Way - oh. Beachhead."

…Crap._ Beach_ had noticed something? Nomad tried to cover her surprised expression. "No offence, but Beach wouldn't -"

"He's not stupid, you know," Covergirl interrupted with a grin. "Anyway, I've _seen_ Lowlight staring at your ass."

"I -" Nomad stopped. "You have? When?"

Dammit, she'd walked right into it. "I mean…uh…"

Covergirl nodded, grinning slyly. "Uh huh. Thought so."

"I - what -" She wanted to protest, but anything she said would just affirm Covergirl's suspicions. "I don't…"

The former model crossed her arms, tapping her fingers and looking smug. "You know, Ace is running a betting pool on how long it takes for you guys to hook up."

Nomad opened her mouth, but still couldn't think of anything to say. She settled for, "Shut up."

Oh, yeah. That was telling her.

Covergirl grinned, satisfied that she'd got one up on Nomad. "Come on."

They hurried along to the personnel elevator. A few sets of eyes flicked to the medal on Nomad's jacket, but there were no questions…yet. She had the feeling that those would come tomorrow, once the funeral was done with and 'Pit life' could start getting back on track.

There _were_ a few smart assed comments about the skirt, though. She handled those with an upraised finger - and also a raised eyebrow directed at the Joe who'd spoken. Standard uniforms were one of those little things Hawk let slide, and she didn't appreciate Quick Kick, of all people, saying something about _her_ uniform when he liked to run around in bare feet with no shirt on.

Still, if she could have, she would've gone to the funeral in her BDUs…but that wouldn't be right.

"About time," Clutch muttered as Nomad and Covergirl strode up to the small group waiting by the two sleek, black cars. They weren't taking the VAMPs - today required a little more finesse. "We're just about ready to go. Nice skirt."

"Nice hat," she retorted. The only redeeming thing about her own hat was that it looked better than the hats the guys had to wear.

"Cute, ain't it?" Clutch's eyes strayed to the medal. "Hey, that's -"

"Yes, it is," she said, nodding and looking down at the medal disdainfully.

The mechanic's eyes flicked to meet Covergirl's. The woman shrugged. "I don't know, either."

Nomad sighed. She'd never hear the end of it if she didn't offer something up. "Look, if you still want to know, I'll tell you when we get back. Okay?"

"Deal!" Covergirl said quickly.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help chuckling at the eager look on the model's face.

Nomad turned and glanced around at the group. Roadblock, Flint, Lowlight and Beachhead were there, all in dress uniforms. Hawk was talking to Duke, maybe giving a few last minute orders. Lifeline and Jeckle were being transferred by ambulance and would come straight back to the Pit after the funeral - Heckle's was the last burial of the day at Arlington. The rest of them would stay the night in a hotel and return the next day. "Are we the only ones going?"

"Cross Country's coming as well," Flint said, looking up. She held back the snigger - it was weird seeing him without his beret. "He's meeting us there with Shipwreck and Ripcord."

Nomad tried to imagine those three all in the same car, then stopped. It wasn't something she wanted to see. "I thought more would go."

"Hawk made the offer," Flint explained. "Everyone who wants to go - and can go - is going. That's the main thing. Some people just might not want to. You know what funerals are like."

She looked away. "I guess so."

Clutch snatched Nomad's bag and chucked it in the back of the second car. She and Covergirl wandered over to the few other Joes who had turned up to see them off, wishing well. Ace was one of them. He caught Nomad's eye and smiled brightly…and seemed to sense that he was in trouble when she didn't smile back.

She glared at the pilot. "You'd better just stop this pool you've got going," she growled quietly. "There is _nothing _going on."

"Why not? It's obvi -"

"So I've heard," she interrupted. "But trust me. It will _never_ happen. Anyway, even if I - if he - there's frat regs. I know Scarlett and Snakes and -"

She broke off as Ace groaned, pulled fifty bucks out of his pocket and slapped it into Covergirl's hand. "Alright, you got me this time."

"Wha -" Nomad started.

"I _told_ you she'd go for frat regs," Covergirl muttered.

Nomad stared at them indignantly, then rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."

Covergirl grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow. I wish I was going with you, but I don't trust Steeler alone with the Mauler." She leaned close. "By the way, _if_ you and a certain sniper decide to get it on, I packed something special for you.. Remember that cute little outfit I tried to give you on your undercover mission?"

"_Covergirl_!"

"Oh, and I'll want details," the former model said, clearly enjoying the flustered look on Nomad's face. She skipped away before Nomad could hit her.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Nomad waved dismissively, punched Ace on the arm and turned to join the rest of the group. Roadblock wasn't wearing his jacket - he had it slung over his shoulder, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He looked uncomfortable. In fact, all of them looked uncomfortable - except Hawk.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who hates dress greens," Nomad said dryly. She received several grunts in reply.

Still…the guys _did_ look pretty good in uniform. Even Beachhead scrubbed up pretty well…but Lowlight looked especially good. God, the way those pants -

"We ready to roll?" Hawk asked with impeccable timing. "Alright. Flint, Roadblock, you're with me."

"Trust Hawk to pick the least annoying people to drive with," Lowlight said with a chuckle.

Clutch nudged Nomad. "Looks like we get the fun car."

She gave Beach a sideways look as he called shotgun. "'Fun' wasn't quite the word I was thinking of."

* * *

Nomad kept her gaze fixed firmly out the window, a grin on her face as Clutch provoked Beachhead yet again by turning the radio up loud.

"Dammit, turn it down! We're goin' to a funeral, show some respect!"

"See?" Clutch asked, looking in the rear-view mirror at her. "What'd I tell you? Fun car."

"Oh, yeah. Fun." Nomad grimaced and punched the back of the passenger seat. "How many hours of dirty jokes, talking about guns, you, Beachhead and Beachhead _yelling_ at you do you think I can take?"

"Hey, _you_ were talkin' guns too, scrawny, so don't you go complainin'. An' it ain't _mah_ fault ah gotta keep yellin' at this moron," Beach said, jerking a thumb at Clutch. "We're in formals; we gotta make an impression. Showin' up with the car rattlin' coz the music's up too loud ain't right."

He _did_ have a point, there.

Clutch waved a hand. "Alright, alright," he said grudgingly, turning the radio down. Then he glanced at Nomad again. "So…champagne tonight?"

"Huh?"

"Room service. You an' me, in our room, coupla glasses of bubbly…maybe a spa…"

"Sorry, grease monkey, but I don't drink."

"Sure you do, I saw you have a couple beers at your party back when you signed up."

"Okay, I'll choose my words more carefully," she said. "What I _should _have said was I'd never drink enough to end up in a spa with you."

Lowlight gave a snort.

"Aw, c'mon. You don't know what you're missin'."

"I know I'm not missing much."

Clutch rubbed at his chest, letting out a sigh. "Oh, Nomad, that hurts so good."

"You _are_ a moron."

Beachhead sniggered. "Told ya."

They fell into an easy silence. Nomad looked out the window again, stealing a quick peek at Lowlight's reflection in the glass. He'd barely said a word the entire drive, but every now and then she'd caught him looking at her.

Her mind turned to what Covergirl had said about the sniper. Had she really seen him staring at Nomad's ass? Probably not…or if he _had_ been looking, there was most likely a good explanation for it. Like a paintball shot, or something.

Or…was it possible he…

No. Lowlight knew better than that. He was her instructor; hell, he was a sergeant. She was just a corporal. Frat regs. Remember the frat regs, they were there for a reason.

Anyway, why would he want her when he knew how screwed up she was? He'd seen the scars.

With a quiet sigh, Nomad leaned her head against the side of the car. She almost hoped she _would_ get stuck in a room with Clutch. At least he'd make her laugh and keep her mind off things.

* * *

Nomad grabbed her bag out of the trunk before one of the guys threw it at her, then turned and peered up at the hotel. "This place looks pretty fancy."

Hawk, Roadblock and Flint joined them, their own packs slung over their shoulders. "Course it is," Flint said, waving a hand. "Uncle Sugar's footing the bill."

"Are we supposed to be using military funds like this?"

"We gotta stay _somewhere_, don't we?"

"Good point."

The group attracted a few curious looks as they strode into the lobby and headed for the reception desk (which, Nomad noticed, was nice and clean and free of clutter). Of course, with Roadblock and Beachhead around they would have been stared at anyway, even if they _didn't_ have their dress uniforms on.

As Hawk crossed to the desk to check them in, Cross Country, Ripcord and Shipwreck walked in. Cross Country gave a whistle.

"Ah, I like these fancy joints," Shipwreck said. "Room service, cable…"

"You and Clutch better not rack up a huge bill on pay-per-view," Flint muttered.

The sailor and the mechanic glanced at each other, then both grinned mischievously at him. "Who, us?"

The warrant officer rolled his eyes and turned away.

Nomad looked around. It was the biggest hotel she'd ever been in - past reception was a large foyer. Directly opposite was another door leading to the other side of the block. On the left was a nicely furnished bar with tables to sit at, with big, cushy chairs. On the right were several shops, and yet another exit.

Nomad stared. There were _shops_ in the actual hotel.

"Thinking of buying something, Nomad?"

She turned as Hawk returned with the key cards. "You know I'm not the shopping type, General. I'm just checking the place out. Last time I stayed at a hotel, I got mistaken for Chuckles' hooker."

Oops. She hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Clutch raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" he asked, completely failing to hide the broad grin spreading across his face.

"I _was_ undercover at the time," she added hastily. "So I played along."

"Uh huh. Sure you did."

Lowlight cast an irritated glance at the mechanic. Clutch either didn't notice or ignored it.

Hawk chuckled. "Ripcord, Cross Country, Shipwreck, you're sharing." He handed the key card to Ripcord - who Nomad silently agreed was the least likely to lose it.

"Flint and Clutch, you're stuck with me."

Clutch groaned.

Nomad smirked. "No pay-per-view for you, grease monkey."

She took her own card as Hawk handed it to her. "I thought you might want a room to yourself."

She didn't really - she'd got quite used to sharing a room with Covergirl. In any case, she didn't like the idea of having a room to herself after the funeral. "I -"

"Sir, I think she should share with Lowlight," Flint piped up. "They both have trouble sleeping; that way, neither of them have to worry about waking the rest of us up."

Nomad narrowed her eyes at him. He flashed her a roguish smile.

"Is that alright with you?" Hawk asked. She thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly.

Nah. Must've been her imagination. Hawk wouldn't be in on it…would he?

"It's…fine, sir," she said.

"Good. That means Beachhead and Roadblock, you're sharing."

As they headed for the elevator, Nomad grabbed the sleeve of Flint's jacket. "Just how much did you put in Ace's pool?" she accused.

He brushed her off. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Fifty bucks," Ripcord said, grinning. He ignored the look the warrant officer gave him - much to his own risk, Nomad thought. She punched Flint on the shoulder.

"What?" he asked defensively. "It's obvious."

"What's obvious?" Lowlight wondered.

"Uh…" Flint looked at Nomad for help. She gave him a pointed look and let him stumble for words. "That…hey, elevator's here. Get in."

Lowlight raised an eyebrow and turned to Nomad. She shrugged, feigning ignorance.

They crushed into the elevator. Somehow - or maybe she should've expected it, under the circumstances - she ended up beside Lowlight. It didn't help that both Ripcord and Cross Country kept shuffling backwards, forcing her closer to the sniper.

"Sorry," she muttered, keeping her head down to hide the blush sweeping across her cheeks.

He shrugged it off. When the doors pinged open, she hurried to put as much space between her and the sniper as was politely possible.

"We've got time to have a look around and dump our gear," Hawk advised, glancing at his watch. "I want everyone back downstairs in half an hour. We're not going to be late."

They split up, heading for their separate rooms. They were all down the left side of the building, but Beachhead, Roadblock, Ripcord, Cross Country and Shipwreck peeled off down a side corridor. Hawk, Clutch, Flint, Lowlight and Nomad kept going down the main hall.

There was one room between them. Just before they walked into theirs, Clutch glanced over and winked. She rolled her eyes and flipped him off.

"Oh, you've got to be joking," she said, looking inside at the bed. The king-sized bed.

The _one_ king-sized bed.

Lowlight peered in over her head. "Huh." He ushered her forward and let the door swing shut behind him as he opened the closet door and tossed his pack inside.

The bathroom was on the right. A large flat-screen TV sat on a cabinet directly opposite the bed. One of the cabinet doors was open to reveal a kettle, coffee and teabags.

"I'll go and see if we can change rooms -" Nomad started.

"Why?"

She raised an eyebrow and gestured to the bed. "Well, there's two of us, and only one bed."

Lowlight shrugged dismissively. "It's just for one night," he said, then paused. "Neither of us will sleep much. But if it really bothers you, you can go see."

"Uh…yeah. No!" She blushed as Lowlight turned to her. "I mean, you're right. It's just for one night. Um."

She dumped her bag on the bed and pretended to look at the framed prints on the wall. She could feel Lowlight's eyes on her back.

He sighed. "Look, if you're that worried about it, maybe you _should_ go down and see about changing rooms," he decided flatly.

Had she offended him? Oh, no…he probably thought she didn't trust him. "No, it's okay," she said quickly, then gave him a stern look and pointed at him. "I kick. Don't blame me if you wake up with bruises."

He chuckled.

"Knock, knock!"

Lowlight and Nomad glanced at each other, rolling their eyes as Clutch called through the door. Lowlight crossed the small room and let him in.

"Mmm…cosy," he said, looking around before sitting on bed. "You two must be unlucky - we got two singles and a sofa bed."

Nomad glared. "Funny, that," she said through gritted teeth.

"Hey, maybe you should go see if you can change rooms," Clutch continued. He was clearly enjoying the moment. "By the way, there's a spa down near the pool…"

"Alright. Later tonight -"

Both men turned their heads sharply.

"- in your dreams."

Clutch elbowed Lowlight. "Ain't she cute, playin' hard to get?"

Lowlight shot him a look Nomad couldn't read.

Clutch ignored him and flopped onto the bed. "I dunno, Lowlight. Reckon you're the luckiest outta the lot of us. _I_ gotta share a room with a warrant officer an' our CO. Now, where's the justice in that? You wanna swap with me?"

"Not really."

Clutch winked slyly at Nomad. "Well, it was worth a shot, right?"

* * *

"Atten-_hut_!"

At Hawk's order, the Joes snapped to attention, saluting as Jeckle's casket slowly lowered into the ground. They held there, unwavering, until it was all the way down.

"At ease," Hawk said quietly.

A barely audible groan came from beside the general. Everyone looked around to see Lifeline lowering Heckle gently back into her wheelchair - she'd insisted on standing for the salute. They all knew she hadn't wanted to be seen in the wheelchair in the first place - as Lifeline had pushed her over the grass, they'd clearly heard her arguing with him. When she'd reached the small gathering, she'd loudly complained about his driving and asked Hawk to make Uncle Sam buy them scooters - effectively starting the funeral out on a light note. Now, though, Jeckle was looking paler than usual. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Lifeline stayed kneeling beside her - it was odd to see him in dull green instead of bright red. Shipwreck was standing behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

"Sorry," the wounded Joe said, noticing the attention. "Just realised Lifeline was right; the chair came in handy after all. Good thing I didn't make that bet with Ace, huh?"

Nomad didn't know how Jeckle could do it - she was at her best friend's funeral and she was still smiling - even though it was a small, sad smile and not the usual cheeky grin.

Nomad sighed. People had their own ways of dealing with things - Jeckle's was to smile, and to try and make everyone else smile, too. Nomad's way had been just to…shut down. And shut people out.

Her eyes swept along the line of Joes. Hawk was looking at the headstone with a blank expression that was very familiar - she'd used it often herself, when she didn't want anyone to know what she was feeling. Roadblock's eyes were downcast. Beachhead's were just as fierce as always, but he was glaring at nothing in particular. He kept shifting his weight, as if he wanted to kick something. Ripcord was clapping Cross Country on the back. A muscle in Flint's jaw kept twitching.

They paid their last respects. Cross Country placed an unlabeled CD by the headstone; noticing the puzzled looks on everyone's faces, he explained that it was the CD Heckle and Jeckle had swapped his country music with in the HAVOC.

Roadblock stepped up next, pulling something white out of his pocket and also rested it on front of the stone - his chef's hat. As he put it down, Jeckle took in a shuddering breath and pressed a hand to her mouth.

Nomad took a handful of flowers from the basket provided and tossed them into the grave. Lifeline rolled Jeckle over so she could do the same.

"You _know_ she would've hated this," Jeckle muttered, just loud enough for Lifeline and Nomad to hear. "Now, if somebody had a _beer_ we could pour over the box…"

Nomad chuckled, gave the wounded woman's shoulder a gentle squeeze and backed away. She headed for Hawk - he was talking to Heckle's family. Nomad nodded politely to them and gave her condolences, then looked shyly up at the general. "Uh…sir…could I have some time to -" She gestured vaguely across the cemetery.

"Go ahead," he said, urging her on with a touch to the elbow. "Take as long as you need."

"Thank you, sir."

She turned and strode back past the rest of them. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lowlight start after her, but Clutch grabbed him and held him back, shaking his head.

He still surprised her sometimes. Good ol' Clutch.

Nomad knew exactly where she was going, even though she'd only been to Arlington once or twice. She didn't like coming here. All those graves…it was a sad place. But it wasn't raining today, not like last time - the sun was out. It was almost fitting - Nomad found herself smiling at the mental image of Heckle beating some angel up because it had rained at her funeral.

There it was. With a sigh, Nomad read the name on the stone. It didn't seem right; she'd never known Matches by his real name.

She sank to her knees on the grass, reaching out to brush at the headstone with her fingers. "Hey, man," she said softly. "Sorry it's been so long. Been kinda busy, you know."

No answer, of course. She would've been slightly worried if there had been - now, _there_ was something Psyche Out would've enjoyed.

"So, I got myself signed up again." She continued anyway. It felt right - and here, she could say whatever was on her mind. No one would begrudge her that. "You should see these guys, Matches. You thought _we_ were weird? Well, these guys are _nuts_. Come to think of it, you'd fit right in. Hell, you'd probably _like_ Beachhead."

She fell silent for a moment, her eyes flicking over to a marker a few rows away; it belonged to Skipper. Spider and Hotshot were a few after that.

Convenient walking distance, she thought bitterly. She glanced behind her at the Joes - they were still milling around. She noticed that Lowlight kept looking over, as if he was making sure she was still there and hadn't done anything stupid.

She took a piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, then rested it against the headstone. It was the photo of her old team together - she'd printed it out the night before. It'd either be blown away or picked up and thrown in the trash, but it was there, for now.

"Well…gotta go see the other guys," she said. "I'll be back."

* * *

It was raining. Dynamite sagged in her wheelchair as Archer pushed it over the grass. She couldn't even push herself - the doctors had forbidden her and given Archer express orders not to let her, in case she popped her stitches. She didn't bother to try and convince him - the guy was stubborn as hell.

She let him know she wasn't happy, though.

Dynamite had known Archer almost as long as she'd known the rest of the team - with the exception of Matches, who she'd known from basics. Archer was in a different unit, but he'd gone to college with Spider. Every now and then, when they were off duty, they liked to catch up over a beer. Dynamite liked Archer - he looked like you wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley, but he was a real sweet-talker. She remembered one time when he'd convinced her to get up on stage to sing karaoke with him, and they'd completely butchered '_Eye of the Tiger'_. He had two kids and a wife whose photos he'd show off proudly to anyone. He was a gentle giant - she'd always thought he'd chosen the wrong line of work, and she'd told him once. He'd told her that he liked to think he was making some kind of difference.

It had been four weeks since he'd found her. Dynamite barely remembered any of it - the last thing she could remember was being lifted into the back of a truck, Archer and the medic - what was his name? Jumpstart, that was it - talking over her. Some time later, she'd been lifted onto a gurney and wheeled into a bright room. She'd asked for Matches, but they didn't tell her where he was. Then she'd seen Jumpstart come in again and whisper something to Archer.

She should have known it then, but she was too out of it to realise why Archer had closed his eyes and his shoulders had slumped.

* * *

Nomad tensed as she felt a presence behind her. When she looked around, it wasn't who she'd expected; she'd thought maybe Clutch had finally let Lowlight come stand with her, or maybe the grease monkey himself had wandered over. She was taken aback to see Hawk standing a respectful distance away, peering past her to the name engraved on the stone marker.

"Sir?" she asked, a little nervously. "Are we ready to go?"

"Only if you are."

Nomad checked her watch and realised that she'd been sitting by the graves of her friends for fifteen minutes. She stood.

Hawk didn't rush her. She was grateful for that. And then…

"Ah…I didn't get to go to the funerals," she said, taking herself by surprise. He hadn't asked…but she felt the need to explain, anyway.

"Oh?"

She glanced sideways at him. He was looking at her intently - like nothing mattered more than what she had to say. Encouraged, she pressed on. "I was in an induced coma for three weeks. The guys…their families couldn't wait any longer to…" Nomad gestured to the grave in front of her. "I didn't know Matches was dead until a couple of days after I woke up. My friend Archer told me; Matches died not long after we got back to base in the Amazon. The doctors wouldn't even let me come here to see them for another week after that. You know, today's the first time I've been to an actual funeral here."

"Let's hope you don't have to come to many more," Hawk said.

She gave one last, long look at the headstone. It might be a while before she came back. "I hear that, sir."

* * *

Lowlight was in the shower. Nomad had tried, but was finding it very hard to stay focused on the TV, despite the fact that she had it turned up loud to drown out the sound of the running water.

It wasn't working. With a sigh, she switched the TV off, jammed her earphones in and turned her iPod up as loud as her ears could take it.

Still not working. Dammit, this had to stop. She shouldn't get so attached to people…it always ended messy. This was not the job to go developing crushes on workmates. They could be dead the next day, and where would that leave you? Alone, that's where.

So…she had to stop it. It should be easy…hell, she'd managed on her own since the Amazon.

Nomad took a deep breath. Okay. This was it. She didn't want Lowlight. Not at all. That goofy, crooked smile, the blue eyes, the curly blonde hair…nope. Not. At. All.

…Yes, she did.

She gave a snarl of frustration, rolled off the bed and grabbed her bag. Time to see what Covergirl had packed for her - she hadn't been able to have a good look before when she unpacked for a shower, because Lowlight had been sprawled on the bed watching TV and there had been the potential for severe embarrassment. She unzipped the bag and threw it open.

So far, not too bad. Nomad nudged her dress greens aside and flicked back a couple of spare strappy tops. Apparently, Covergirl hadn't been able to decide which one to force Nomad to wear - Nomad had chosen the plain black singlet and teamed it with her jeans. Thankfully, the tank jockey hadn't seen fit to repack Nomad's underwear, but -

…Oh, for fuck's sake…

Nomad gingerly picked up a flimsy, lacy piece of black material from the very bottom of the bag and held it up in front of her. It was one of the thongs Covergirl had insisted she take to 'Robac and Co.', just in case she had to 'do some heavy undercover work'. It must've got caught up with her washing - Nomad certainly hadn't kept it for any reason.

She peeked back into the overnight bag to see a matching bra, a pair of sheer black stockings - the kind with the seams up the back and lace to hold them up - and…oh, god, were they fluffy handcuffs?

Covergirl had a death wish. Nomad was going to grant it.

Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. Nomad jumped and spun around, ripping her earphones out and raising her fists.

Oh, no…she and Lowlight had left the door ajar in case one of the others wanted to come and talk. Shipwreck and Clutch both eyed the garment still dangling from her hand. "Well, _I_ approve," Clutch said. "Dunno if it's Lowlight's kinda thing, though."

"It's not mine," she said hurriedly. "Covergirl gave it to me."

The men looked at each other, both grinning mischievously.

"No! That's not what - I mean - uh…" And just why was she still holding the…thing? She shoved it back into the bag, swept the bag off the bed and kicked it out of sight. "What the hell do you two want?"

Clutch sniggered. "Well, I wouldn't mind seeing -"

She glared at him, though she was blushing furiously, then punched him on the arm.

"Ouch! Alright, alright." The mechanic protested. "We just came to see if you wanted to come have dinner with the rest of us."

"Yeah," Shipwreck added. "Roadblock's idea. Figured it might be nice, after the funeral an' all."

Nomad nodded. "Sure. I'll tell Lowlight when he -"

"Tell me what?"

Clutch and Shipwreck turned. Nomad peered past them, then quickly averted her eyes. Lowlight had opened the bathroom door and was leaning against the frame, wearing only a pair of jeans. He had a towel draped around his neck and was drying his hair with one end.

"Yeah, tell him what, Nomad?" Shipwreck prompted.

"Uh…that…"

The bathroom didn't have a fan - the steam had quite a nice effect.

…Stop it!

"That…?" Clutch pressed smugly.

"That we're all going out for dinner," she muttered, glowering at the mechanic and the sailor. "And I'm gonna go grab a Coke from the machine. Anyone else want one?"

They shook their heads. Nomad headed for the door, her eyes fixed on the floor. She tried not to look like she was keeping as much space between her and Lowlight as she could.

"Ah, Nomad?"

She turned to Shipwreck. "What?"

"This might help." Shipwreck fished around in his pocket and pulled out a handful of loose change.

"Oh. Right."

He didn't move; she had to walk back past the half-naked sniper. Shipwreck tipped the coins into her hand gleefully. "Go on. Off ya go."

Once she was back at the door - and Lowlight had his well-muscled back to her - Nomad glared at Clutch and Shipwreck, pointing at them and drawing her finger across her throat. Clutch just snorted.

With a low growl reminiscent of the one Beachhead often gave her, Nomad waved her hand impatiently at them and stalked off down the hall.

She shouldn't let them get to her. Allowing them to see how flustered she got only encouraged them. She should have played along - that would've taken the fun out of it for all of them.

She found the small room where the drink machine lived. She fed it all the coins, then viciously jabbed the button. Two cans rolled out. She cracked one open right there and sipped at it while holding the other can to her forehead.

"You know that stuff ain't good for ya, don'tcha?" Cross Country ushered her aside and filled his ice bucket. "You alright? You look all hot an' bothered."

You don't know the half of it. "I'm fine," she said.

"Funeral got you down?" Cross Country tipped his cap back and looked at her. "Saw you at them other graves. I dunno who they were, but I'm sorry."

She smiled at him. Even at the best of times, Cross Country was never very eloquent, but he meant well. "Thanks," she said. "I better get back and make sure Clutch and Shipwreck haven't trashed my room."

"Ditto for Ripcord," the HAVOC driver said, then paused. "Don't feel too down, huh?"

"How could I, with you guys around?" she asked, only half-joking. She headed out of the room when he gestured, then jumped as he dropped an ice cube down the back of her singlet. "Hey!"

Laughing, he headed off down the corridor. Shaking her head, Nomad wandered back to her room.

She passed Clutch and Shipwreck on the way. She cast them an evil look, which only resulted in them both howling with laughter.

Fortunately, Lowlight was fully dressed when she walked in - he was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the wall as he channel-surfed. She avoided his eyes and sat on the chair in the corner.

"Well, I don't smell, so _that's_ not the reason you're sitting over there." He patted the mattress beside him. "Plenty of room."

"I'm fine here, thanks," she said shortly.

Lowlight frowned at her, but didn't press.

Not that she was looking at him from the corner of her eye, but Nomad thought he looked a little disappointed.

* * *

The restaurant wasn't a fancy one, but it was still a step up from where most of the Joes were used to eating - namely the mess hall or the PX Snack Bar. Roadblock had apparently taken his companions into consideration when choosing the place; it was within walking distance from the hotel, the food was reasonably priced and, more importantly, they could pronounce everything that was on the menu.

They were seated at a booth in the corner of the place; Nomad was sandwiched between Roadblock and the warrant officer. Beachhead and Hawk, predictably, had taken seats from where they could see most of the restaurant. It wasn't that they were paranoid - well, Hawk wasn't, at least - it was just habit.

Nomad leaned back and stretched. She'd eaten far too much - but the steak had been too good to _not_ eat all of it, even though it was roughly the size of the dinner plate itself.

"You ate _all_ of it?" Ripcord asked, looking at her incredulously.

"I was hungry!" she said defensively.

"Leave her alone. The kid knows good food when she sees it," Roadblock said, nudging her.

Nomad grinned smugly at Ripcord. "Yeah."

The waitress came around with the drinks they'd ordered a couple of minutes ago. Nomad raised an eyebrow as the woman blatantly tried to get Clutch's attention, leaning right down over the table as she passed the drinks out to give him an eyeful of her ample cleavage. The mechanic took one long look, smiled apologetically at her and shook his head slightly. The waitress walked away, clearly disappointed.

Clutch, refusing an advance? Nomad was shocked.

Apparently she wasn't the only one. "What's up with _you_?" Beach wondered.

Clutch shrugged dismissively. "Tonight's for us," he said. "You know, to remember Heckle, an' all." He grabbed his beer and held it up. "To Heckle."

The others clinked their bottles together. "To Heckle."

They all sat in comfortable silence for a little while. It wasn't often the Joes got to just relax with a few buddies and have a cold one. At the Pit, there was always the possibility that a mission could come up, or you could be called for duty…there was usually _something_ to interrupt you. And there was a no alcohol policy at the Pit, of course. Except for Roadblock's good cooking stuff, and _nobody_ was stupid enough to go and steal that.

Hawk had a drink with them, but took his leave soon after, saying he had some calls to make.

"Sure it's not so you can claim plausible deniability?" Flint wondered, raising his beer as the general stood.

"If I have to claim plausible deniability, there'll be trouble," Hawk replied, though his stern tone was softened as he smile slightly. "I mean it; I'm not bailing any of you out of jail if you get into any fights. Shipwreck? Nomad?"

Ah. He would be referring to the bar incident.

The sailor looked at the general, all wide-eyed innocence. "Me?"

Nomad raised a hand. "Is self-defence allowed?"

He leaned on the table and glanced around at all of them.

"Don't worry, Hawk, I'll keep 'em out of trouble," Flint assured.

Hawk raised an eyebrow at the warrant officer. "Be good," he said with a chuckle, then he strode to the door.

Flint nodded. "Yep. Plausible deniability."

Nomad laughed, then lapsed into silence for a while, just listening to the different conversations that started up around her.

"I have to call Jaye when we get back to the room," Flint was saying.

Ripcord sniggered. "Whipped."

"_Not_ whipped. Calling somebody when you're away is not whipped. Right, Nomad?"

She smirked. "Sorry, Flint, but I'm with Rip. You're whipped."

Flint sighed.

Clutch waved at her. "Want another drink, Nomad?"

"No thanks; this is my second already."

He gave her a look. "Only two?"

"Two's enough." It was true: she was already started to feel a little…bubbly.

He gave a snort. "Lightweight."

She felt another pair of eyes on her, and glanced around to see Beachhead's brown gaze drilling into her. "Yeees?"

"Gotta question for you," he said, leaning forward.

She mirrored him, resting her forearms on the table and hunching her shoulders slightly, narrowing her eyes. "Shoot."

Roadblock nudged her. "Never tell Beachhead to shoot, kid. He just might."

"Yeah? Well, he shoots me he'll have to explain to Covergirl why she doesn't have a roommate anymore, won't he?" Nomad sniggered, turning back to the Ranger. "I'm sure that'd go down well. Ask away, Beach."

"What's the deal with the medal?"

She grinned. "Been bugging you all day, hasn't it?"

He paused, then grudgingly admitted it. "…Yeah."

She noticed that the table had gone quiet and all eyes were on her. It happened every time there was a possibility she might answer a question about her past - it always unnerved her a little. She didn't like being the centre of attention.

Until today, only Lady Jaye and Covergirl had seen the medal. Psyche Out would've known as well; he'd probably read every single one of her files. Lifeline and Doc she wasn't too sure of. The only other person she could think of - apart from Hawk, of course - was Duke. None of them had ever pressed her to tell how she'd received it, but by now the whole Pit probably knew she had it…and Nomad could think of several people who'd be curious when she got back.

She'd promised to tell Covergirl and Clutch, anyway. What the hell.

Nomad took a sip of her beer, giving herself time to choose her words. "So, you all know how I got cut up, right? Vaguely, anyway?"

"Mission went south," Flint said, nodding.

"Goldilocks," Lowlight said, giving her a look.

She glared at him, then finished the rest of her beer and nodded. "_Anyway_," she continued quickly, before anyone could ask who Goldilocks was, "my friend Matches took a gut shot. It was bad, but he was still alive. I dragged him out."

Clutch frowned. "You told me your whole team died -" He realised what he was saying and shut his mouth, but it was too late.

"Your whole team?" Cross Country asked, a look of horror on his open face.

Short story time. "I was on a mission in the Amazon. I fell behind and missed the evac, and it was ten months before I got out. My team volunteered for the mission to extract me, and I was the only one who made it."

Flint stared. "And you dragged your friend out, even when you were…"

"Yep. Couldn't just leave him there." Nomad clapped her hands. "So, there you have it. That's how I got that stupid medal."

The alcohol buzz was gone. She gestured for Clutch to get her another beer.

* * *

Nomad stepped out of the bathroom and padded around to her side of the bed, clothes wrapped tightly in a ball. She stuffed them into her bag, adjusted the tank top and shorts she was wearing as pyjamas and sank onto the bed with a yawn.

Lowlight looked at her. "Tired?"

"A bit," she admitted. "Long day."

He nodded and turned back to the TV - he'd stopped flicking channels a little while ago, settling on _Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_ after Nomad had exclaimed that she hadn't seen it for ages. It was already about ten minutes in, but she liked that movie. Lowlight seemed to be getting a good laugh out of it, too. She liked hearing him laugh.

"I'll turn it down if you want to get some sleep," he offered.

She shook her head, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. "It's only twelve o'clock," she said. "Still early."

He didn't say anything, keeping his eyes on the TV. Nomad shifted awkwardly, then sat up and adjusted her pillow. She tried to get comfortable; it didn't work.

Maybe she _should_ have seen about changing rooms…

Lowlight was grinning at her.

"What're you looking at?" she asked, smiling back.

"Nothing."

There was another old horror movie on after Roger Rabbit - one about a giant alligator in the sewers. Nomad had seen it before, but couldn't remember it. She settled back against the wall, her pillow shoved behind her back.

She must have dozed off. One minute, she'd been watching an extremely fake-looking alligator head chomping on somebody who was squirting copious amounts of extremely fake-looking blood. The next…

"Hey."

She blinked stupidly at Lowlight, then realised that they were extremely close together. In fact, her leg was pressing against his, and her head was resting on his shoulder. Their noses were almost touching. It was like the C-130 all over again. "Crap. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said quietly. The TV was turned down low - the alligator movie was over, and now some old western was on.

"Okay." She could have sat like that all night. His warmth was reassuring. He made no effort to move, so neither did she.

"Nomad?"

"Yeah?"

"Goldilocks was part of your team, wasn't he?"

Way to spoil the mood, sniper. She sat up, narrowing her eyes. "What _is_ it with you?" she asked angrily. "Why can't you just drop it?"

"Is that a yes?"

Nomad brushed her hair from her eyes impatiently. "What do you care?"

"I care about you," he answered bluntly.

Her anger faded quickly. "It's my problem, Lowlight, not yours."

"But you don't have to deal with it on your own." He reached over and took her right hand, twisting it so he could see the long scar running up her forearm.

She resisted the urge to pull away. He was too close.

On the other hand…she _wanted_ to tell him.

"He…was my commanding officer," she said hesitantly. Lowlight nodded and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. "I volunteered for the Amazon mission - we were ambushed searching for caches of stolen weapons. Like I said before, I missed the evac. I did what I'd been trained to do: I continued my mission. I eventually found the caches. I learned to live off the jungle, avoid the insurgents…" She shook her head. "Ten months later, _he_ came back, leading my team. He…wanted me to tell him where the caches were, but orders from the start had been to tell the honchos back home. I followed my orders."

Lowlight's eyes were fixed on hers. "He was crooked."

She nodded. "He killed my friends to try and get me to talk. When that didn't work -" She lifted her tank top to reveal the scars. "He did this. Broke some fingers and ripped my nails out, too."

Lowlight swore.

She smiled bitterly. "But you know what the worst part is?"

"How can it get worse than that?"

"I told him. I broke."

Lowlight turned and put his hands on her shoulders. "The bastard tortured you. It's not your fault. Some guys wouldn't have survived what you -"

"Some guys didn't," she returned sharply. "And they died for no reason."

"You're here," he said softly. "I wouldn't call that no reason."

"Lowlight -"

He put a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her forward, pressing his lips to hers. Nothing intense - just a long, gentle kiss that made Nomad forget what she'd been about to say. "Uh…"

He looked at her cautiously, as if he expected her to bolt. To be honest, _she_ wasn't sure whether she was going to bolt or not.

It must have shown on her face. Lowlight lifted her chin. "It's okay."

"Is it? What about -"

"If you say frat regs…" Lowlight left the threat unfinished, reaching over and planting a hand on the mattress beside her hip. "Nobody cares."

"_I_ care. And…oh…" He was trailing soft kisses along her neck - and now he was working his way along her collarbones, getting awfully close to the neckline of her tank top. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep her thoughts in line. "Lowlight, it's not just frat regs -"

"Mmhmm?"

Oh, God…she didn't want him to stop, but -

"Coop, stop."

He backed off immediately and looked at her, worry in his eyes.

"I'm screwed up," she interrupted flatly. "You know it. I just...I don't wanna fuck you around."

He chuckled.

She smiled back. "Wrong choice of words there. What I'm trying to say is…" Why was it so hard to find the words?

"We can take as long as you need.," Lowlight assured her.

She looked up at him - and suddenly realised she was on her back, with the sniper leaning right over her. How had that happened? "You don't get it," she said weakly. She ran her hands up his chest and along his arms. "Coop, I don't mean to sound dramatic, but everyone I like ends up dead."

His muscles flexed under her fingers as he shifted his weight. One hand went to her hip; he toyed with the waistband of her shorts. "We all know the risks when we sign up," he said.

She lowered her eyes. His body was warm and hard against her - she took his hand and placed it on her lower belly, letting his fingers brush along the scars. "What about these?" she asked hesitantly.

Lowlight gave her a look of disbelief. "Is that what you're worried about?"

So now it was out. She nodded hesitantly.

"Oh, Nomad." Lowlight shook his head. "Scars don't mean anything."

"But -" She broke off as the hand on her belly tugged on the drawstring of her shorts. "Coop?"

"Yeah?"

"I haven't been with anyone since…"

He hushed her with another kiss, gentle at first, then fiercer as she responded, arching up to meet him. "None of that matters," he murmured. "Right now, it's just you and me." He raised himself onto his elbows to grin down at her. "You don't want to disappoint Ace and everyone who's got money in his pool, do you?"


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Okay, so I'm still kinda stuck right now. This chapter's mostly just filler while I figure out what's gonna go on. Starts off with a little bit more mush - sorry - but it's not really important, so you can skip if you want! I was just practicing, anyway :P Not much happens, in this one. Hopefully next chapter will have another mission...and maybe some plot...

Anyway, from now on I'm gonna try and reply properly to all the reviews. It's nicer that way :D Thanks for the awesome reviews for the last chapter, by the way. (I got a squee!)

* * *

Something tightened around her waist. Nomad's eyes snapped open and she tensed up, an elbow jerking back immediately into what felt like ribs. She twisted around.

Instead of letting go, whoever held her hugged her tighter. "It's okay," a low voice murmured right beside her ear. "It's me. It's Lowlight."

"Low -" Nomad blinked stupidly at him for a moment, then relaxed into his arms. "Shit, I'm sorry -"

"Old habit, huh?" He grinned wryly and rubbed his chest.

"I'm sor -" she started again, but he shook his head. She grinned bashfully. "Guess I'll have to work on that, huh?"

"Mmhmm." His fingers lightly traced circles on her back - Nomad blushed when she realised that her pyjamas were actually on the floor on the other side of the room. As were Lowlight's.

A pleasant tingle ran through her body at the memory. Lowlight had been sweet - every touch was gentle, almost cautious. She'd had a moment of panic just as he began to ease his hand down the front of her shorts, and he'd stopped straight away. The sniper had meant it when he'd said she could take as long as she needed. She appreciated it; he'd given her an escape route, if she wanted it.

She'd decided she didn't. After what seemed a long time of Lowlight's comforting weight on her, their hands slowly exploring each other, she'd pushed him back and sat up, peeling off her tank top. She didn't say a word, just looked at him and nodded. He understood, immediately stripping off his own t-shirt and pyjama pants. Nomad's shorts had soon followed; then, finally, they were moving together, awkwardly at first, until they fell into an easy, slow rhythm. Lowlight caught her breathy moans in his mouth as she arched her back and pulled his hips harder to her. He twisted a hand in her hair and drew her head back, trailing hot kisses along the line of her jaw and all the way down to her breasts. The coiling, tense feeling in her lower belly became too much; she bit her lip to keep from crying out as she came, her fingertips digging into Lowlight's back. He bucked against her and arrived soon after, groaning quietly.

For a while, they'd just stayed comfortably like that - Nomad curled into Lowlight's side, absently running her fingers up and down his flat, firm stomach, his arm under her head and around her shoulders. Then, at the same time, they'd both looked at each other and grinned mischievously.

"You with me?" Lowlight drummed his fingers on her back.

"Uh huh. Just thinking."

"About…?"

"What do you _think_ I'm thinking about?" she asked, smiling.

He looked back seriously. "You could be thinking about anything. I can never tell," he admitted.

"I'll give you a prize if you guess," she said playfully. She couldn't help herself…Lowlight brought it out in her.

She'd been a little surprised by him - he'd never struck her as the playful kind, but he was, once they'd got past the tentative first stage. At one point, Nomad's toes had curled a little _too_ hard, and she'd pulled her right calf muscle. She'd told Lowlight it was all his fault; he'd made up for it by massaging the pain away…and then massaging other places, teasing her and not letting her touch him.

Damn sniper had driven her crazy.

Lowlight nuzzled her neck. "Hell, that's close enough," Nomad said quickly. His touch sent a thrill through her - he apparently felt her shiver and leaned over her, one hand sliding down the length of her body. She raised her hand, tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down so she could lightly brush her lips against his. She meant to stop at that, just to tease him back a little - but it wasn't enough. She ended up slipping her arms around his waist and wrapping her legs tightly around his hips.

Lowlight groaned into her mouth - then he touched her in a way that made her blush.

Nomad's eyes flicked sideways to the clock on the bedside table. "It's still early," she whispered. "Breakfast isn't til eight." She shifted her hips, smirking as his eyes closed for a moment and he let out a sharp breath.

It was satisfying to know that she could turn him on, scars and all.

* * *

Clutch was looking extremely smug. "Sleep well?"

Nomad set her plate on the table and sat beside him. "You bet I did. How was your dream spa? Lonely?"

"Hey, I had _plenty_ of company in my dream spa," he retorted. He chuckled, then winked over her head at Lowlight.

The sniper whacked Clutch on the back of the head as he passed, taking a seat beside Cross Country. The whole gang was seated at a group of tables in the hotel restaurant. Beachhead had just returned with his second plate of bacon and eggs. Hawk was sipping coffee as he read the newspaper. Cross Country's plate looked like he'd just grabbed some of everything.

"I'm gonna have to put up with you all the way back to the Pit, aren't I?" she asked as Clutch wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Considerin' I'm drivin', yeah." He nudged her. "Unless you wanna tell me _now_ if you an' Lowlight are a thing. Otherwise, I may just have to bug you all the way home."

The rest of them all stopped and looked at her. Even Hawk paused with his coffee mug halfway to his mouth and raised an eyebrow at her, though he quickly went back to looking at the paper.

Nomad looked at Clutch indignantly, then glanced past to Lowlight. He was looking at her just as curiously as the others.

The guy was too sweet for his own good, letting her call all the shots. "I guess you could we are," she said, trying not to sound too proud of herself.

Lowlight smiled at her, looking slightly relieved. Ripcord and Shipwreck high-fived each other, not even bothering to make it subtle.

"'Bout damned time, too," Beachhead muttered. "D'you know how long Ah've had to listen to Courtney complainin' 'bout you two?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm glad to know you all approve," she said dryly, but she blushed and coughed as she took too large a bite out of her croissant. Clutch thumped her on the back far more heartily than required.

Well…almost all. Hawk hadn't said anything; apart from that one quick glance, he hadn't even looked up.

The General didn't say much until they all stood, ready to go get their stuff and start the long drive back to the Pit. "Nomad."

She pushed her chair in and turned to him, still grinning at something Shipwreck had said. "Sir?"

He folded the paper and looked at her seriously.

The grin faded. "I know what this is about, don't I?" she asked nervously. "Hawk, if there's a problem with me and Lowlight -" She stopped, not knowing what to say.

He shook his head quickly. "Of course I don't have a problem with it," he assured her. "Why would I?"

She shrugged. "I just thought…maybe…"

Hawk gave her a wry grin. "We're good at looking the other way when it comes to frat regs. You should know that by now."

"Yes, sir."

"Just make sure it doesn't affect you on the job."

"It won't," she promised, then she narrowed her eyes at him. She had to ask. "General…you weren't…you know, in on it, were you? I mean, Ace's betting pool, me and Lowlight having to share a room…"

He stood up and strode past her, gesturing for her to get moving. He didn't answer, but once again, Nomad saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Hawk." She hurried after him. "_Hawk_?"

* * *

With a sigh, Nomad pulled one earphone out so she wouldn't shout to the whole training room. "Covergirl, you can sit there staring at me all day; I'm not saying anything else."

The other woman leaned forward on the exercise bike's handlebars. Nomad didn't know how Covergirl could still look stunning while her hair and shirt were drenched with sweat, but she managed it. "Come _on_, Nomad. Hey, tell me and I'll tell you something about Beach."

"That's not a huge incentive," Nomad said bluntly. "Not only would I never be able to look at Beach the same, but if he found out you told me something like that, he'd bury me alive in the mud pit."

Covergirl's expression turned calculating. "Okay then…give me details, _or_ I'll tell you something about Beach. You know, he does this thing -"

"What do you want to know?"

The former model studied Nomad for a moment. "After all that dancing around each other for months, was it worth it?"

Nomad slowed the treadmill down while she had a mouthful of water, buying herself some time. "You damn well bet it was," she answered finally, smirking.

"What's he like?"

"_Covergirl!_"

Covergirl sat back and crossed her arms as she pedalled. "When me and Wayne -"

"He's really…sweet." Nomad smiled at nothing in particular. "He said I could take as long as I needed."

"Which wasn't too long, I hope? You got some action, right?"

Nomad couldn't help herself; she giggled. It had been a while since she'd had some quality girl-talk like this. "Well, I had a couple of freakouts, but…oh my god, yes."

"Freakouts? Why? You like Lowlight, Lowlight likes you, what was there to freak out about?" Covergirl wondered.

Nomad chuckled. "Let's just say it'd been a while," Nomad admitted.

Covergirl frowned. "How long are we talking?"

"Almost two years."

The model's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Well, the mission went for ten months, and it's been a year since then." Nomad shrugged self-consciously. "And…the scars are kind of ugly."

The tank jockey gave a snort. "Tell me you didn't hold off Lowlight for so long because of that."

"Uh…"

Covergirl rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot. Haven't Scarlett and Snakes taught you anything?"

"Snakes is a whole lot cooler than I am. _And_ he's a ninja."

"Well…if Lowlight had backed off just because you have a few scars, he'd have me to deal with. Not that he would have. Lowlight likes his space; I figured he might like you when he let you sleep on him in the C-130. I'm just saying."

Nomad smiled at her. "Aw. Thanks."

Covergirl gracefully waved a hand. "Okay, one more thing. No, really, just one."

Nomad rolled her eyes. "What?"

"Did you use the cuffs?"

"_No_!"

Covergirl smirked. "Oh well, your loss. You should try them one day, me and Wayne -"

"Oh, I don't need to hear that." Nomad quickly stuffed the earphone back in her ear and made sure Covergirl saw her turning her iPod up loud.

Covergirl raised her hands, giggling and shaking her head.

Suddenly, both earphones were yanked out again. "Hello, Nomad."

She swore loudly and almost fell off the treadmill as Storm Shadow appeared beside her. The only thing that kept her from faceplanting was the ninja tugging on the emergency stop clip. He twirled the cord around his finger casually as the belt slowed and Nomad regained her balance.

Ignoring Covergirl's laughter, Nomad glared at the ninja. "One day, I'm gonna get you."

"I highly doubt it," he retorted.

"Well…yeah, me too, but I can dream." Nomad made a grab for the clip, wanting to reattach it so she could continue her run.

Predictably, Storm swung it out of reach. "There's going to be a demonstration for a few new greenshirts in the dojo. Want to help out?"

She frowned. "Help out with what?" she asked warily. She tried to snatch the clip again. Storm deflected her hand easily.

"Just a few defensive moves. That's all."

She was suspicious. Storm Shadow never sounded _that_ innocent. "Why me? I'm no good at all that ninja stuff."

Storm Shadow grinned. "Well, that just proves that anyone can learn, doesn't it? It'll be good for the greenies to see."

"Hey!" She took a swipe at him - and missed, of course.

Covergirl abandoned the exercise bike and stood beside the ninja. "Let's go," she said eagerly. "It's always fun to see the newbies' faces the first time they see Snakes and Storm."

* * *

The seven new greenies were lined up against one wall of the dojo. Two of them looked like they were about to throw up. The rest were staring incredulously at the black figure standing in the centre of the mat.

Nomad frowned. Snake Eyes wasn't alone - he was signing something to…Lifeline?

Yes, it was Lifeline. Nomad hadn't recognised him for a moment because he was wearing a black t-shirt and BDUs.

Snake Eyes tipped his head to her and leaned around the medic so she could see his hands. *You look happy today, Nomad. Did you have a good night?*

"Yes. Yes, I did," she answered promptly. Then she raised an eyebrow at Covergirl. "I'm not gonna hear the end of it, am I?"

"Not likely.

"Great."

"At least, not until somebody else hooks up. My money's on Jeckle and 'Wreck."

Nomad turned her attention to Lifeline, who was smiling brightly at her. "What are _you _doing here?" She'd never seen Lifeline in the dojo - she'd assumed, being the pacifist he was, he didn't take part in hand-to-hand.

"This is gonna be good," she heard Covergirl mutter to Storm.

Nomad glanced around. "Why do I feel like I'm being set up?"

Storm translated for Snakes as the mute ninja made introductions, then -

"Nomad, attack Lifeline."

She stared. "Uh…what?"

Storm gestured to the medic. "Attack him. Cause him grievous bodily harm."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Look, I know he's a pain in the ass, but I don't _want_ to cause him grievous bodily harm!"

"How about just a black eye?"

"Storm!"

Lifeline raised a hand. "Nomad, it's okay. Do it."

"But -"

"Don't worry, you won't hurt me. I promise. Don't hold back."

Nomad glanced sideways at Snake Eyes, who nodded. "Well…okay…"

She took a half-hearted swing at Lifeline's head. He ducked easily and gave her a look. "I mean it, don't hold back. Otherwise I'll advise the kitchen staff to hide the coffee."

"That's not fair."

He grinned. "Then bring it."

"Oh, that's it. You want it, you got it, medic." Nomad kicked her shoes off and stepped onto the mat, bowing automatically. Lifeline bowed back, then just stood there, his feet slightly apart. He turned with her as she circled, then she lunged forward, swinging her fist.

Next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, and Lifeline was looking down at her, failing to hide his smile. "Are you okay?"

"Wha - how -" she spluttered. She hadn't even seen him move - how could the medic have floored her so easily? She could hear Storm Shadow and Covergirl laughing somewhere near the door.

The medic grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet.

*Try again, Nomad. Maybe you won't miss this time,* Snake Eyes signed, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Nomad glanced at Lifeline, confused, then she lashed out at him again. He knocked her arm down and stepped aside; she ended up facedown on the mat.

He helped her up again, apologising. She didn't wait for another invitation - as soon as she had her balance, she turned on the medic, snapping her foot around. Once again, he blocked her strike and twisted, sending her flying to the floor. She gave a groan, then just lay there, sprawled out.

"Nomad?" Lifeline kneeled beside her, sounded concerned.

"I _knew_ this was a setup," she grumbled, lifting her head to look at him, awed.

"It wasn't _my_ idea," Lifeline replied quickly.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I know whose idea it was," Nomad stated, glaring at Storm - the ninja smiled wickedly back at her. "Lifeline, what the hell _was_ that?"

"Aikido," he explained. "I'm a black belt."

"That doesn't tell me much. You're a pacifist, I didn't think you -"

Snakes nudged her with his foot. She leaned up on her elbows. *Aikido uses only defensive moves,* he signed. *We couldn't let Lifeline go into the field completely helpless, could we?*

"I guess not. Lifeline, why didn't you tell me you're a wannabe ninja?"

He shrugged and ran a hand through his shaggy hair bashfully.

Storm Shadow glanced at the greenshirts still lined up along the wall. They seemed to be having trouble deciding who to stare at - Snakes, Storm, Lifeline, Nomad or, in the case of one guy, Covergirl.

He wouldn't last long.

"Now, how about a _real_ show?" Storm asked. "We'll show you some of the stuff that you might be learning - that is, if you pass the extremely difficult Joe training, which I'm pretty sure most of you won't." He looked down at Nomad.

"I'm moving, I'm moving." She sat up quickly and crawled to the edge of the mat, sitting cross-legged beside Covergirl. If Snakes and Stormy were going to face off, she was definitely staying to watch.

Maybe she put Storm off, somehow. She looked around for something to throw.

* * *

"C'mon, Roadblock, I can stir!"

Nomad grinned, glancing up from the book she'd filched from Wild Bill's collection as Jeckle looked at the big man stirring the cake mix. Jeckle was still stuck in her wheelchair - it made the size difference between her and the heavy gunner even more obvious.

"No, you can't. Get outta here, you're not supposed to be out of the infirmary," Roadblock answered, pointing the wooden spoon at her. He made Nomad think of a mother hen. "Does Lifeline know you're here?"

"Well…"

"There you are!"

Jeckle sighed. "He does now."

Lifeline - now back in his usual red uniform - marched up to her. "You didn't push yourself here, did you?"

"Uh…not _all_ the way," she said evasively.

Lifeline flapped his arms in frustration.

"I did," Nomad called. She'd found Jeckle slowly wheeling herself down the corridor, almost running into the wall because she couldn't use her left arm without straining her injury. "Don't worry, PIA, I caught her before she popped any stitches."

Lifeline checked anyway, despite Jeckle's protests. Once he was satisfied, he glared at her - but he couldn't keep it up for long. "Next time, _tell_ me when you want to go somewhere," he advised. "Don't just leave the infirmary."

"Will do," Jeckle agreed, giving him a thumbs up.

"And _you_," the medic continued, turning to Nomad, "don't abscond with my patients."

"I didn't abscond. She was making a jailbreak and I got caught up in it." She smiled sweetly at him. "Would you _rather_ I left her to push herself?"

Lifeline sighed, shook his head and sat beside her. "One day, I'll have patients who _don't _do everything in their power to get away from me."

"Not while you're a Joe, you won't," Nomad retorted with a grin. Then she nodded. "Go easy on her, Lifeline, it's hard being stuck in a wheelchair. Especially when it's not your legs that're screwed up. And it's worse when you have to rely on other people to get around."

He nodded, watching as Roadblock gave in and handed the bowl to Jeckle. She rested it on her lap and stirred with her right hand, holding it steady with her left. "I get that. She's healing well, though. She'll be up for convalescence in a couple of weeks."

Nomad sniggered. "The infirmary'll be quiet then."

"'Peaceful' is the right word."

Roadblock pushed Jeckle's wheelchair over to the table and took the bowl from her. "You sit over here and stay outta my way."

"Can I lick the spoon?"

"No."

Jeckle looked up at him.

"Oh…alright." He handed her the spoon, shaking his head.

Nomad smiled. "Oh, you're _good_."

Jeckle grinned, looking quite satisfied with herself. "I know."


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Okay, so I bought myself a new candle to burn just last night, so hopefully now I'll be set to write! Heh heh...it's one of my things. I need to have a candle burning when I write. And I need music. I've listened to about four cds on repeat writing this damn thing...and now Christina Aguilera's _Nasty Naughty Boy_ reminds me of Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll...

Anyway, so this chapter has a little bit more of Nomad's background in it and (finally) a set up for another mission. Next chapter will be said mission :D

Okay, so hope you all enjoy this chapter, and thanks as always for the reviews!

* * *

"_We want you to come home._"

"I can't."

"_But Sherry -_"

"Don't call me that."

"_Don't start with me. I'm not calling you that…name._"

"And I'm not going home. I still have things to do here."

"_You listen to me, young lady -_"

"I'll talk to you later, Dad. Thanks for calling."

"_Don't you hang up that pho_ -"

"Bye."

Dynamite ended the call, gingerly pressing the hang-up button with one of her broken fingers. Her hands were starting to ache again; even that small amount of pressure sent a dull throbbing all the way up to her wrists. Still, it was the first thing she'd been able to do with that particular finger - it was a small victory.

Now, to try for another one. With a sneaky glance at the door, she slowly shifted her weight to the edge of the wheelchair, flipped the footrests up and tentatively put her feet on the floor.

"Don't even think about it."

With a groan, she turned to the large, fearsome-looking man leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Come on, man, I've been in this fucking chair for a goddamn month."

"And Jumpstart says you need to stay in it for two," Archer pointed out.

"Jumpstart can -"

Archer gave her a warning look.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Dynamite angrily threw herself back into the chair. It hurt like hell - the sudden movement pulled at her stitches. She tried to hide the wince, but couldn't hold back the hissing breath.

"Yeah," Archer said, his stern expression not going away. "That hurt, didn't it?"

Dammit. "No," she said petulantly, glaring out the window.

He strode across the room and flopped into the worn armchair she was parked next to. "Don't lie to a superior," he said lightly, then he frowned. "And stop sulking. You didn't pop any stitches, did you?"

She checked clumsily. "No."

"Good. So, what'd your dad want?"

"Nothing."

The big man narrowed his dark eyes at her, taking his phone as she held it out.

"He…wants me to go home."

Archer nodded sagely. "And…?"

Dynamite scowled. "I'm not going. Not until that son of a bitch is -"

He flapped his hands. "Look, kiddo, it's not gonna matter where you are. When we find Goldilocks, you'll be the first to know. Well, not the first, but you know what I mean." He paused. "Don't you think maybe you _should_ go home for a while? After everything that's happened, maybe a little downtime'd be good. Your parents are worried. You'd be more comfortable at home than here in hospital, anyway."

"I'll go when it's all over. Not before." She looked at him, and when she spoke she was a little disgusted to hear the pleading tone in her voice. "I have to see this finished, Archer."

"'Mite…you're not making this easy for yourself."

She glared. "'Don't talk to me about what's 'not easy'. You want to know what's not ea -"

"Dynamite…" Archer warned.

She blushed. "Sorry." She wasn't sure whether to add 'sir' or not; she couldn't remember ever having called Archer sir before. At least, not seriously.

He waved a hand dismissively. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"You get it, though, don't you?" she pressed. "You know why -"

"Yeah, I get it." Archer heaved a sigh and nodded. "I'd wanna see the bastard court-martialled, too."

"Is that all?" Nomad said darkly. "I want to see him a lot more than court-martialled. I want to see him dea -"

"That's enough of that." Archer's voice was quiet. "I know what you've been through, but you won't speak like that when I'm around, you hear?"

Dynamite knew better than to argue with that tone; last time she'd heard him speak that quietly, he'd just about put his fist through somebody's face. "Sorry," she said again. She hesitated, then met his eyes. "I've requested a room on base. Um…will you put in a good word for me? Help me get it?"

He studied her for a long time, then caved. "Ah, how can I say no?"

She reached out and rested a bandaged hand on his large arm. "Thanks. Now I owe you two."

"You can buy them for me next time we're at the bar. Anyway, don't thank me just yet. You think you can handle staying in one place for who-knows-how long til we find that asshole? 'Mite, you've got the itchiest feet of anyone I've ever known."

Dynamite grinned. "Yeah, and you know what they're itching for right now?"

He nodded. "I _know_ you want out of that chair, but if I get caught humouring you, Jumpstart'll kick my ass."

"Jumpstart's half your size."

"But he's a medic. Medics are _scary_ when they're angry."

Despite herself, she giggled at the look on Archer's face. "Don't I know it. Did you ever get Spider mad at -" Dynamite stopped, the fond memory of quick-witted, easygoing Spider ruined by a quick flash of his head blasting apart in a cloud of red.

She quickly changed the subject. "Being inside all day gives me a headache. Think you can man up enough to take me for a walk outside?"

Archer's expression reminded her of the way he looked at the photos of his kids, and she was suddenly glad he was there. "That I _can_ do."

* * *

"_Hello? Sherry, you still there? Hello? Damn phone…hel -"_

"Yeah, I'm still here. Sorry, just got distracted for a moment. Do you have to call me that?"

"_I am _not_ calling you that other stupid name, whatever it is now. Anyway, happy birthday, Shezz. I wish we could tell you face to face. I know you don't get much time off, but…whenever you can, come home, alright? It's been ages. Your mother and I miss you._"

Nomad sighed. "I know, Dad. I'll drop by when I can get a few days off." How many times had she said that in the last year and followed through? Twice? The last time had been just after…

Well…maybe it was time to ask for a few days leave. It might not go through for a few weeks, given the circumstances with Cobra, but Nomad was sure Hawk wouldn't begrudge her a little time off once things cooled down.

"_We love you, sugar._"

As usual, she evaded the expected reply. "Dad, don't call me sugar. It's embarrassing."

"_Why?_ _You don't have me on speaker, do you?_"

Nomad chuckled. "No," she assured him, "but I _am_ twenty four now, you know."

"_Doesn't matter how old you are. I have the right to call my only daughter 'sugar' if I want to, especially since she's chosen a job that could get her killed any day."_

"Daaad."

"_Alright, alright._"

She checked her watch. "Dad, I have to go. Look, I'll see what I can do about getting some leave, but it's kind of full-on at the moment."

"_Just…be careful._"

She cut him off before he finished his sentence. "Nothing's gonna happen." She gave a short laugh. "I've had my share of bad luck, what else can happen?"

"_Please. If anything happens -_"

She sighed. "I'll be careful, Dad. I'll email, okay? Bye."

"_Bye_."

Nomad hung up the phone and sighed. Well…that had been less painful than expected. Calls from her parents often tended to get awkward. In fact, their whole relationship had been awkward for the last year, but it was getting better. Slowly.

Nomad's parents had never approved of her joining the army. Both had completely flipped when she told them she'd signed up, not long after her nineteenth birthday. They wanted her to go to college and find a 'less dangerous' job, like any other 'normal' young woman - maybe at the campus coffee shop…or 'a nice little bookstore'.

Yeah. Like that had ever been likely to happen.

Nomad could have gone to college if she'd wanted to - she'd always had reasonably good grades (except in maths; numbers had _never_ made sense to her). It was just that the thought of more school just didn't appeal to her. She'd stubbornly refused to withdraw her application to the defence force, much to her parents' dismay. Her choice of careers had been the subject of many arguments, right up until the day she'd left for the base to begin her training.

Eventually, they'd resigned themselves to the fact that she wouldn't change her mind - but they hadn't liked it.

After the Amazon mission, Nomad's parents had got to the hospital as soon as they could. Archer told her they'd barely left her bedside while she was in the coma.

Then she'd woken up, and things had become…strained. Once she was well enough to do something besides lie in bed doped up on painkillers all day, they'd started pressing her to resign.

She'd had no intention of resigning. Not at that point.

That decision was to come later.

Eventually, she'd snapped, telling her hovering family to go home, using language that would, at any other time, earn her a slap from her father. _That_ time, however, he'd just looked sadly at her, taken hold of her mother's elbow and walked out of the hospital room. She'd regretted her words as soon as she'd said them, but was too pigheaded to call them back.

She'd always been more like her father - proud, stubborn, and unwilling to admit that she was wrong. She knew she was wrong, this time.

Archer had come in later - blatantly disappointed with her - to tell her they were flying home early the next morning.

"Good news?"

"Huh?" Nomad turned to see Breaker looking down at her. She had her back to the PX Snack Bar door and hadn't seen him come in…though she should have realised that one of the Joes had just walked in when Percy, at the next table over, sniffed indignantly.

Admittedly, Breaker _was_ a little smelly. And he had mud all over his fatigues; Nomad sensed Beachhead's influence. "Oh, no. Just my dad calling to say hi," she explained, flipping her phone open and closed absently before turning it off. She'd bought the phone when Covergirl, Scarlett and Lady Jaye had taken her shopping. Nomad didn't know why - it wasn't like she could take the phone on missions with her, and the rest of the time she was at HQ. She had no friends outside the Pit, and she sent emails to her parents every couple of weeks. Still, Covergirl had insisted…and when Covergirl insisted on something, she usually got her way.

Nomad had to admit it, though…it _was_ nice to hear Mum and Dad's voices.

"That all?"

"Uh huh. He likes to call every now and then. Why?"

She hadn't told anyone that it was her birthday. She could think of several Joes who'd make a big deal out of it…and after the last few days, with the funeral and all, that was something she didn't think she could handle. She'd made it almost the whole day without anyone knowing; if she could get through dinner without a fuss, she'd be home free.

Breaker shrugged. "Just wonderin'. Hey, you 'bout to head on over to the mess hall?"

"Yeah." She stood and followed him out the door, shooting a quick glare at poor Percy as they left.

"Me too." He gestured to the mud on his clothes. "Just got in from PT, need to fuel up afore gettin' back to all that stuff Mainframe got in Guatemala."

Nomad fell into step beside him as they headed across the grounds, trying not to get irritated with his constant gum-popping . "You're _still_ going through all that?"

He nodded. "Mainframe got a whole lot of stuff off those computers."

"Anything useful yet?"

"Some of it." Breaker popped another bubble. "Like I said, we're still workin' on it. Ain't all in open, you know. Sure, Cobra ain't the best at codin' their stuff, but -"

She cut him off before he got too far into geek-speak. "What about the neurotoxin? Have there been any hits on suppliers, or…something?"

He sighed. "Can't really say much 'bout it, Nomad. Not til we've got somethin' solid to go on."

She raised her hands. "Alright, alright. Forget I asked."

Garage 2 was empty. Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll were probably already in the mess hall - Roadblock was cooking tonight, so it was bound to be busy down there. Maybe Nomad should skip dinner in the mess hall…

Nah. It would just look suspicious if she skipped dinner. _Nobody _missed a meal when Roadblock was cooking.

Breaker opened the door to the mess hall, then turned suddenly and clicked his fingers. "Damn!"

Nomad almost ran into him. "What?"

"I meant to bring the coffee mugs an' stuff up from the computer level. We've been pullin' a few all-nighters lately, we've got a bit of a collection down there." He glanced sideways at Nomad. "Hey, you wouldn't mind…?"

She rolled her eyes. "Who was your _last_ slave?"

"I think it was Zap when he lost that bet with Ace. We made him -"

She held up a hand to silence him. Whatever they'd made Zap do, she didn't want to know. "I'll go get them, shall I?"

He grinned. "Thanks, Nomad."

Shaking her head, she left Breaker at the mess hall door, heading for the elevator to go down to the computer level.

Nomad rarely came down here. Computers weren't her thing: she knew how use her laptop, and she could read the average radar monitors and all that, of course, but no way could she do what Breaker, Mainframe and Dial Tone could do with a keyboard. Those guys were, by her standards, geniuses.

Speaking of Mainframe, there he was, sitting at a desk surrounded by screens, keyboards, printouts and scribbled notes. Another desk nearby did indeed have quite a large collection of coffee mugs arranged on it. She should have grabbed a tray to carry them on. "Hi, Mainframe."

The older Joe glanced up. "Hey there," he answered, looking surprised to see her. He glanced at his watch, then sat back in his chair, stretched and rubbed his eyes. "I gotta get me a new chair…what brings you down here, Nomad?"

She gestured to the mugs. "Apparently I'm waitress for the night."

"Ah. Yeah. We've been meaning to clean that up," Mainframe said apologetically.

She waved it off and stole a glance at the screens as she walked behind him. One of them displayed long lists of numbers. "You hacking into the Matrix?"

Mainframe chuckled. "Nope, just Cobra data."

She repeated the question she'd asked Breaker. "Anything useful?"

"Not unless you're interested in learning how much the average snake earns a week."

She grinned. "Nah, I already know that. Are we talking Crimson Guard, vipers, officers or blue suit troops?" she asked. "Because you didn't need to hack that; I could've told you."

Mainframe looked at her. "What did you get when you were undercover?"

"Not much. I was just a trainee." She gathered up a few mugs. "You look like you could do with a break, Mains. Come up to the mess hall and grab something to eat."

"Thanks, Nomad, but I've got to stay here and keep an eye on things. Dial Tone will be back soon, then it's my turn."

Nomad frowned. "Keep an eye on what?" she asked curiously. "Breaker said you were just going through the Guatemala data."

"We are," Mainframe explained. "But ever since we found out about that neurotoxin, we've been keeping tabs on certain…persons of interest."

"Really? Who?" she pressed.

He shook his head. "That's on a need to know basis. Nothing you need to worry about."

She gave a disappointed sigh, knowing that she wouldn't get anything more out of the vet. "So you just sit here until something beeps?" She shook her head. "We should be out _looking_."

Mainframe sat back, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Where would you start?"

"Well, with whoever you're keeping tabs on." As soon as she saw the look on his face, she knew she was going to be proven wrong.

"Okay," Mainframe said patiently. "So what happens if, say, while you were checking out one of those people, it turned out to be somebody completely different?"

"Uh…we'd have to be recalled?"

"And…?"

"And that would have been a complete waste of time," she admitted grudgingly. "And money, fuel, possibly ammo…"

He smiled at her knowingly.

"So we wait until we're sure, huh?" she asked, a little embarrassed.

"Best way to do it," he agreed, getting up and helping to stack the mugs in her arms. "Don't worry: we know what we're doing." He shooed her away. "Go on, get outta here."

When she was halfway to the door, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Hey, you want me to bring something down for you?"

"I'm fine. Thanks anyway." Mainframe waved at her, then turned his attention back to his screens.

Nomad wandered back to the elevator and somehow managed to press the button with her elbow without dropping anything. She liked Mainframe, even though she didn't see or talk to him much. He knew what he was about.

Dusty had once told her a story about the techie. Something about a job in the Middle East, and some kid had kept saying that Mainframe wasn't a real soldier because all he did was play with computers. Dusty said that Mainframe had pretty much pulled all their cookies out of the fire, then promptly fell asleep in the sidecar of their motorbike.

If _that_ wasn't cool, Nomad didn't know what was….though if she'd been there, she probably would've brained the brat with her rifle.

Mmm. She could smell Roadblock's cooking through the mess hall doors already; it made her mouth water and her stomach rumble. Nomad turned and pushed the door open with her back.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

She swore loudly, spun, and almost dropped the coffee mugs. As expected, the mess hall was full - only on one of the tables closest to the door was a large array of food, and an especially wicked-looking chocolate mud cake, complete with chocolate curls and candles on top. Roadblock waved at her from food prep - he'd definitely outdone himself this time.

"What the -" she started.

People swarmed around her. The coffee mugs were taken from her - and several of them shattered after they slipped out of Tripwire's clumsy hands.

"Skoog," she muttered, shaking her head.

"I'll clean it up! I'm - oops!"

"Tripwire, sit down," Sci-Fi ordered. "Just…sit. And don't move."

Nomad laughed as the laser gunner escorted her to a seat. She glanced around the table; most of her closest buddies were around her - Covergirl, Lady Jaye, Scarlett, Sci-Fi and Tripwire, Dusty, Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll, Jeckle and Shipwreck, Lifeline…and Lowlight, of course. There were even a few others she wasn't so close to who'd probably been dragged over; Flint, Beachhead, Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow.

"Who -" Nomad didn't know how to finish. It was a total surprise - and, she realised, it was actually a very welcome one. No matter what she told herself, it was nice to know they cared that much. She felt her eyes get warm and a little wetter than usual.

What the hell? What was wrong with her? She hadn't cried since giving Spider, Hotshot and Skipper that final salute. Not even when that bastard had smirked at her while she was in the stand testifying…

She blinked rapidly and looked around, turning her head a little more than was necessary so nobody could get a good look at her. There was no _way_ she was going to cry. Not now. Never again.

"All that about the coffee mugs was set up, wasn't it?" she asked, looking for Breaker to distract herself. He was seated at a table nearby with Dial Tone and a few others - he caught her gaze and grinned smugly.

"Roadblock was still puttin' the finishin' touches on the cake," Dusty said, smiling brightly. "That was a bit of quick thinkin' on Breaker's part."

Covergirl came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her neck. "Why didn't you tell us it was your damn birthday?"

Nomad shrugged. "Because I figured if I did, something like this might happen. Guess I should know better by now."

"You should."

"How'd you guys find out, anyway?"

Storm chuckled. "You told me, remember?"

Nomad looked blankly at him. "Huh?"

"Back at 'Robac and Co.'," he explained patiently. "Just before we got out, you said you wanted to make it to your next birthday."

Realisation dawned. "And you asked when, and I said a couple of months," she finished for him, nodding. "You actually remembered that?"

"Obviously."

"How'd you find the exact date? And if you say 'ninja'…"

Storm glanced at Lifeline. "A little medic told me."

She turned to the medic. He grinned bashfully and shrugged. "When a ninja wants to know something, you tell him, right?"

Of course. Lifeline had her files. How could she have forgotten that? She looked around at everyone. "Thanks, guys."

Snake Eyes leaned over and snapped a party hat onto her head. He had one on himself - it looked completely out of place on top of the black mask and visor. *Happy birthday.*

She giggled, "You look ridiculous, Snakes."

*Smile.*

"What -"

A bright light flashed; Nomad blinked the spots away and looked for the source.

Rock 'n' Roll had a camera. "Say Yo Joe!" he said, snapping another photo of her.

Nomad glanced at Snake Eyes. "Whose idea was it to give him that?"

*It was either Rock 'n' Roll or Clutch.*

"Good choice."

A hastily wrapped box appeared on the table in front of her. "Happy birthday, Nomad!" Sci-Fi said. "Sorry about the wrapping; Trip did it."

"The paper kept ripping," the hapless Skoog said, flapping his arms.

Nomad stared. "You guys got -"

"Don't even finish that sentence," Lady Jaye interrupted. "Of course we did."

Again, Nomad felt a wave of warmth in her eyes. "Aww…you guys didn't have to do this."

"Sure we did," Clutch retorted. "We're buddies, right?"

She grinned. "Well…I dunno about you, but the others, yeah."

"Hey!"

* * *

Stuffed full of the _divine_ chocolate cake Roadblock had made (he clearly knew she liked her chocolate), Nomad flopped onto the saggy rec room couch to search through the big box of assorted cheap horror movies that Sci-Fi and Tripwire had pooled their money to get her.

"What are you watching?"

She glanced up as Lowlight sat beside her, peering over her arm to look at her selection. "I'm thinking _Tremors_. Haven't seen that one for a while." She grinned. "It's funny. Wanna watch it with me?"

He shrugged.

"Well, if you don't, you better get out while you still can." She heaved herself to her feet and crossed to the TV to put the disc in the player. When she turned back, the sniper had made himself comfy on the couch. Nomad went to sit on the floor in front of the couch, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the seat beside him. For a moment, she wasn't sure what she should do - a hotel room was one thing, the rec room (where anyone could just walk in) was completely different.

Still…it _was_ her birthday. She could do whatever the hell she wanted - within reason.

Nomad leaned against the sniper. He pressed play on the remote, then settled back into the couch, his arms around her. It was something that she was getting very used to. She had the feeling that she might fall asleep before the movie was over.

_Snick_.

"What - _Lowlight_!" She glanced down at the fluffy handcuffs now fastened around her wrists. Covergirl - smartass that she was - had given Nomad a pair of her own for her birthday.

He grinned at her. "Just making sure they work."

* * *

"Nomad, wake up."

"Wha -?" She sat up quickly and glanced wildly around the room as she heard Lowlight's voice. "Something happen?"

She was still in the rec room. The sniper was standing by the door, talking quietly to somebody she couldn't see. Nomad rubbed her eyes, straightened her BDUs and crossed the room. "What's going on?"

It was Dial Tone that Lowlight was talking to. He nodded to her, then gave her an odd look. "Uh…we got a hit - um…I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?"

Lowlight shook his head.

"Oh, good."

Nomad looked at Dial Tone impatiently. "You got a hit?"

"Yep. So _you've _got a job. Duke's waiting to brief you."

Nomad paused. "Duke? Where's Hawk?"

"Already shipped out," Dial Tone said. "You better get going."

"Lose the fluffy handcuffs, Nomad."

"Huh?" Nomad glanced down and was mortified to see Covergirl's gift to her still dangling from her right wrist.

So _that's_ why Dial Tone had looked at her funny.

Her face flushing bright red, Nomad fumbled with the release and shoved the cuffs into her pocket. "Sorry, Duke. Won't happen again." Of all the people who had to see that, why was it _Duke_?

Well…it could've been worse. It could've been Clutch or Shipwreck. Now _that_ would have been embarrassing.

"Make sure it doesn't," Duke said sternly.

Outback sniggered, earning himself a glare from the top sergeant. He changed it to a cough, not even bothering to make it sound convincing. Nomad glared at him as the top sergeant turned to the desk to pick up some papers. The big man smirked back at her.

"Stop it, both of you," the top sergeant said. He handed each of them a map. "This is Sierra Gordo."

Outback groaned.

"As Dial Tone might have told you, he, Mainframe and Breaker got a hit on one of their targets. There's already been a team deployed to deal with that."

Nomad frowned. "So…what're we doing?"

"You have a recon mission. Outback, I'll let you give Nomad the rundown of Sierra Gordo on the way."

"What's there to tell?" Outback grumbled. "That damn place is _always_ causing trouble."

Duke ignored the large man and spoke mainly to Nomad. "Dial Tone's guy mentioned Sierra Gordo in the phone call we traced. We know Cobra's had facilities in the country before; we need to know if they're developing weapons there again. That's where you come in."

Nomad narrowed her eyes as she studied the map. "Just two of us?"

"Three. You'll be joined by Recondo once you're on the ground."

"Who's Recondo?"

Duke flashed a rare grin. "Let's just say if there's snakes in the jungle, he'll know about them. Once you're on the ground in Sierra Gordo, you'll be on your own. Make sure you stock up on ammo and medical supplies. You have two hours to get geared up."

Nomad and Outback glanced at each other, both of them now all business.

"Hey, Nomad?"

She turned back to the first shirt. "Yeah, Duke?"

He gave her a grim look. "Happy birthday."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Finally, a new chapter! It's been a little while…hopefully it's worth the wait! I know the last couple of chapters were a bit dodgy…I really had no idea what was going on, and I was just writing for the sake of writing.

But I know what's going to happen now! The end is in sight! I think maybe three or four more chapters; it just depends on if it turns out the way I want it to. Like the way the end of _this_ chapter didn't…

Okay, that's enough from me. Thanks for reading, reviewing and in general being patient with me :-D

* * *

"You guys ready to jump?"

Nomad finished smearing the dull green paint across her face, wiped her hands on her fatigues and glanced up at Ripcord. "I'm set, Sweetheart."

Outback nodded. "We're ready," he affirmed.

Ripcord grinned. "Good." He keyed his headset. "Lift Ticket, I'm lowering the ramp!"

"_Roger that, Ripcord._"

As the cargo bay loading ramp lowered, Ripcord gave Outback and Nomad's harnesses a final check. "Okay," he said, clapping each of them on the shoulder. "Remember, we'll be back in thirty six hours. Happy hunting. And say hi to Recondo for me, I haven't seen him for ages."

They strode to the end of the ramp. Nomad looked down; there were mountains and rainforest as far as she could see.

"That clear patch," Outback called above the rushing wind, pointing. She followed his finger; almost directly below them was a clearing in the middle of the trees. "We land there." He paused, studying her. "Are you up for this?"

Nomad sighed. Of course, the survival expert knew about the Amazon. She'd told him herself that she'd been stuck there for ten months. However, since Heckle's funeral, he - and pretty much the whole Pit - knew that it hadn't been just a simple case of getting left behind. "I'm fine, Outback," she answered.

"Well, in that case…ladies first." He gave a slight bow and extended one arm.

"Don't mind if I do," she replied. "Hey, don't get stuck in a tree."

"Not cool."

She grinned at him, turned and gave Ripcord a wave, and dived off the ramp. They were jumping from a higher altitude than they had last time; Nomad had more time to enjoy the gentle glide downwards.

Once she hit the ground, Nomad stayed on one knee in the long grass, scanning the area with her assault rifle jammed hard against her shoulder. She tried to ignore the sense of déjà vu creeping over her.

There were other Joes who'd been to Sierra Gordo before - but Duke had sent _her_. Said it was because she had experience in a jungle environment. For a brief moment, though, she'd seen a look of doubt cross his face. He'd hidden it well…but it was still there.

She could do this. She'd told Outback she was fine, and she'd _prove_ it, dammit. To him _and _Duke.

Nomad squinted into the darkness, trying to pick out if that shadow there - or that one, or _that_ one - was a threat, or just a menacing looking tree.

Turned out they were just trees.

She glanced over her shoulder as Outback landed with a thud. He peered back at her; she gave him the 'okay' with her thumb and forefinger in a circle, last three fingers sticking up. With a short nod, he quickly bundled his parachute up and crouched, taking a small shovel from his pack and starting to dig a hole.

Nomad kept watch as Outback buried his 'chute. It was quiet, but not suspiciously quiet; all the normal forest animal noises had resumed once they'd been on the ground for a few minutes. There was a cool breeze blowing through the clearing - she enjoyed it while she could. Once they were in the trees, Nomad just bet it would be hot, sticky, and generally unpleasant.

And familiar.

"Your turn." Outback came up beside her and handed her the shovel. Nomad turned and peered at the ground; she could barely see where Outback had disturbed the earth. If she hadn't seen him digging, she probably wouldn't have noticed at all.

She chose a spot a few metres away, knelt down and cut a square of grass, carefully lifting it aside and scooping the dirt out of the hole. She stuffed her parachute in, replaced as much dirt as she could and gently replaced the grass, fluffing it up a little. The extra dirt displaced by her 'chute went into a small bag brought along specifically for that purpose - she and Outback would scatter the dirt as they walked.

"Done," she whispered, standing. She turned her back to him and spoke over her shoulder. "The compass is in the front pocket of my -"

Outback gave her a look that was almost pitying, then looked up at the stars. "This way," he said after a moment.

"Oh_. _Okay then."

Outback strode past her, heading for the trees. Of course, he didn't need a compass. This was a guy who wore a t-shirt with 'SURVIVAL' printed across it - a guy who thought being stranded in the middle of some lonely place all by himself, with nothing but a pack full of new equipment to test, was _fun_.

Well, at least Nomad knew why the compass had been given to _her_ now. Obviously, Outback didn't need it, but she didn't stand a chance of finding her way back without it.

Perhaps if she'd had ten months to memorise the tracks and landmarks of the forest…

She jogged after Outback, catching up with him just behind the tree line. As she'd expected, once out of the clearing the air became humid. The trees didn't gradually become thicker - it was like they'd never ended, like the clearing had never actually been there.

Nomad sniffed. Yep…rainforests must smell the same everywhere. Sickly sweet with rotting vegetation, the occasional dead animal hidden somewhere, stagnant puddles…

Outback was looking at her. "You sure you're okay?"

"Bit late if I wasn't," she retorted. "But I'm fine." She slipped her pack off her shoulders and pulled out the map Duke had given her, the compass, and a small flashlight. "Let's go. We have to meet up with Recondo in a couple of hours."

Outback held his hand out for the map. She passed it to him, moving closer to help shield the glow of the flashlight with her body. Just in case.

"That's the rendezvous point," she said, pointing to the red circle. "And we're -"

"Here," Outback said, then he frowned. "We'll have to move fast."

"Then let's get going." Nomad hitched her rucksack higher onto her shoulders and adjusted the strap of her assault rifle.

"I'll go first," Outback decided. "Keep a minimum of ten metres between us, and if I say stop, you stop right where you are. If I say run, you run., no questions, no nothing."

Duke had named Outback CO for this mission. Nomad knew she shouldn't argue…but she couldn't help it. "I'm not going to leave you if something happens," she said flatly.

He sighed. "Look, I know how it feels. I've been in the same kinda situation before. But if something _does_ happen, one of us has to get word back to the Pit." Shadowed by the trees, with paint smeared across his face, he looked a little scary.

"Okay, okay," she said reluctantly. "But I don't like it."

"You don't _have_ to like it," he said. "I don't wanna pull rank on you, coz I figure you know what you're doin', but if you don't follow orders I'll make sure I personally get to kick your ass. _After _Duke does, and you know Duke don't go easy when he's beatin' on someone. So are we cool?"

With a sigh, she nodded. "We're cool."

"Good." He set off at a steady jog. With a final glance behind her at the clearing, she followed.

* * *

"Yo. Time for a breather."

Nomad slowed to a walk and shucked her pack, dropping it by the base of a large tree. They'd been keeping up a steady pace for the last forty minutes straight. She pulled her canteen out and took a sip.

She never thought she'd say it, but thank god for Beachhead's training; all those laps of the perimeter fence had paid off. Her shirt was damp and clinging with sweat, and she was breathing a little bit heavier than usual, but she felt like she could keep going for the rest of the night.

It was odd…she felt kind of at home here.

Outback squatted by his own pack, his back against a tree trunk. "We've made good time," he said, taking a swig from his own canteen.

Nomad nodded. "How much -"

She broke off suddenly, tilting her head. Outback noticed and shot her a questioning look. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she said, sitting beside him. She made sure he noticed the pointed look she gave him just before flicking her eyes to the surrounding rainforest.

"You think there's someone out there?" His voice was barely more than a breath.

Nomad rubbed the back of her neck. She felt…fuzzy. Like there were eyes fixed on her. "I don't know," she answered honestly, just as quietly.

Outback nodded, climbing to his feet. "Well, we better keep goin'."

"Uh huh." Nomad picked up her pack and her rifle - surreptitiously switching the safety off the gun before slinging the strap over her shoulder.

As she and Outback started to move off, several loincloth-clad, war paint covered men emerged calmly from the trees, so silently that Nomad almost ran into one of them as she turned. He backed away and said something to one of the others in a language she didn't know. They were all carrying packs, bedrolls and rifles.

She started to lift her own gun. Outback quickly shoved the barrel toward the ground. "I get the feelin' they've been watchin' us for a while. They could've opened fire any time they wanted."

"But - right." She held her free arm wide as she slowly knelt and rested the assault rifle on the ground. "Now what?"

"Now, we head back to camp and have a yarn or two."

Nomad and Outback glanced around. Outback gave a laugh. "God damn it."

The rangy man wearing the hat grinned. "Gets you guys every time," he said.

Nomad clicked. "Let me guess. Recondo," she stated, giving Outback a sidelong look.

"Uh huh, that's Recondo. You can put your arms down."

She blushed, realising that she was holding her hands up in a classic 'don't shoot' pose. "Right."

Recondo tipped his hat back and studied her. "Duke told me there'd be a new Joe on this one."

Nomad studied him back. She'd never seen him around the Pit before; in fact, she hadn't even heard of him before Duke had briefed them. "I'm Nomad," she said. "Been a Joe for…" She had to think about it for a moment. "Just over two months."

Is that all? Sometimes it seemed like much longer.

Recondo stepped forward and shook her hand. "What's your MOS? You a jungle trooper? You move like it. Usually I get heavy breathers out here, but you're nice and quiet."

She gave a short laugh. "Not officially, but I've had experience. Amazon. Long story." She paused, glancing nervously around at the indigenous, gun-toting men. "Um…who are they?"

Recondo smiled and clapped the closest guy on the shoulder. "These are the Tucaro Indians. We've been buddies a long time."

"Oh." She waved tentatively at them.

Outback strode past her and handed Recondo an envelope - a copy of their orders. "Duke get in contact with you?"

"Via satcom, about six hours ago."

That was around the time the other mission had gone out. Duke had called Nomad and Outback into the briefing room an hour after that, then they'd spent the next two hours preparing. Nomad's pockets were stuffed with spare clips - she'd even pulled a Snakes and shoved a couple down the sides of her boots. She'd also strapped on her ka-bar and her other birthday present - a shiny, razor sharp knife that was small enough to strap to her arm and not be noticeable under her sleeve. Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Scarlett and a few others had pitched in for it and the custom-made sheath. It was a good quality knife; like one you'd find in the ninjas' collection. Nomad still didn't like knives all that much - but she could definitely make an exception for this one.

"Cobra's back in town, alright. Anibal's had a few of his cousins keep an eye out for me," Recondo explained. The jungle troop gestured for them to start walking. When Nomad looked back, the Tucaros had vanished from sight. "Sounds like we've got a Terrordrome on our hands."

"Who's Anibal?" Nomad wondered.

"He leads the Tucaros," Recondo answered.

"Like…the chief?"

He grinned. "You could say that."

Nomad sighed, wondering when things would stop surprising her. Life as a Joe was certainly interesting.

"Camp's a half hour's walk from here," Recondo advised. "We _were_ waiting at the rendezvous point, but the boys were getting antsy. Didn't think you'd mind if we came for a wander to meet you."

None of them were making any effort to be quiet anymore - Recondo assured them that the Tucaros would let them know if something was wrong. Outback chuckled. "Sneak up on us, you mean."

Recondo shrugged. "They think it's fun."

"And of course you wouldn't wanna spoil it for 'em."

"Nope." Recondo glanced at Nomad. "That long story you were talking about before? We've got time."

She'd almost been hoping he wouldn't mention it. She didn't mind talking about it anymore - skipping a few details, of course - but…here? Nomad didn't know if she could.

Outback came to her rescue, giving the jungle troop a look over Nomad's head. "Maybe it can wait til we get to camp, huh?"

"Oh." Recondo looked at Nomad apologetically. "One of _those_ kind of stories."

She waved him off and grinned. "Hey, scary stories are always better around a campfire, right?"

* * *

The Tucaros' camp was as she'd expected it to be - not much more than a small break in the trees. A couple of camo nets were stretched at angles from the branches to the ground. There were a few packs and bedrolls scattered around the place. Nomad gave a wry grin - she felt remarkably at home here.

Anibal, on the other hand, had taken her by surprise. She didn't know what she'd been expecting…maybe feathers, a rat skull necklace…a little voodoo, perhaps? Spirit would have been disappointed in her, stereotyping like that.

She was completely wrong. As they walked into camp, preceded by the Tucaros, a wiry man with glasses, wearing a tattered white shirt and trousers waved to Recondo. "You found them?"

Recondo nodded. "Anibal, this is Outback, and that's Nomad. They're Joes, too."

Anibal studied them, then beckoned them over. They sat on the ground beside him. "Friends of Recondo are welcome among the Tucaro tribe," he said.

Nomad didn't mention the fact the she'd never actually met the jungle troop until half an hour ago. "Uh…no disrespect, Mr. Anibal, but -"

He gave her a measured stare. "I studied at MIT before returning to lead my family - you'd call them my tribe. The 'mister' is unnecessary. Anibal is not my real name, but it will suffice. You wouldn't be able to pronounce my real name."

"Oh." Nomad paused, and then curiosity got the better of her. "What's your real name?"

He rattled off something in his own language and raised a challenging eyebrow at her.

She gave it a shot, but couldn't get her tongue around the syllables - or remember which order they went in. "Uh…yeah. I'll stick to Anibal."

Recondo chuckled, then gestured to Anibal. "As much as I'd like to sit and chat a while, we have a job to do. Why don't you tell 'em what your cousins found, Anibal? I'm sure these two'll find it _real_ interestin'."

The Terrordrome was a fully manned Cobra base, nestled deep in the rainforest. There was no telling how long it had been there; today was the first the Joes had heard of it. Anibal assured them it hadn't been there long, though ; if it had, the Tucaros would've known about it. The 'drome was only a few hours hike from the Tucaro camp.

"There are guards posted around the perimeter at all times," Anibal explained, pointing to the small dots around the neat, hand-drawn map he'd made up. He and the three Joes were huddled around it, studying by firelight and using Nomad's flashlight like a laser pointer. "They change every two hours. The main entrance is here. It's not heavily guarded; I don't think they expect anyone to attack them this deep in the rainforest." His lip curled slightly in contempt. "I don't think they recall the _last_ time they met with the Tucaros."

Nomad opened her mouth, but closed it when Recondo muttered, "Later."

"Every two hours?" Outback repeated.

Anibal nodded.

"That's our way in," Outback said decisively, glancing up at the other two Joes.

Recondo chuckled. "The old 'lure-them-away-and-steal-their-uniforms' trick again?"

Nomad stared. "That actually works?"

"It's never failed me before," Outback replied, then thought about it. "Well…I lie. There _was_ that one time when Gung Ho's uniform didn't quite fit…"

She stifled a giggle, pressing her lips together tightly but not completely disguising her grin.

"So we get in," Recondo said thoughtfully. "Split up?"

"Yep. Cover more ground, less chance of getting caught."

Recondo pulled out the envelope with their orders in it. "And we search for anything to do with neurotoxin and weapon production. All clear?"

Outback and Nomad nodded; Recondo tore the orders up and fed the pieces to the fire. "Good."

Anibal rolled the map up and gave it to Outback. "We have some explosive charges -"

The survival expert shook his head. "No dice. This is primarily a recon job. Our main objective is to get in and out without firing a shot."

"Technically, you _wouldn't_ be firing shots."

Nomad decided she liked the way the Tucaro leader thought.

Recondo shrugged. "Sorry, Anibal. Orders are orders. And none of your people are coming with us, either."

"But -"

"We'll need you on the outside, keeping an eye on things. No offence, but Tucaros don't exactly blend in very well with Cobra troops."

Anibal glanced around the camp at his people. "That's true."

Recondo changed the subject quickly while Anibal agreed with him. "Well, I'm beat. I say we get us some sleep and start early. I want time to do some surveillance before we sneak into the Terrordrome tomorrow night."

"Sounds like a plan," Outback agreed, then turned to Nomad. "Anything you wanna add?"

She looked up, a little surprised to be asked for her input. "Not that I can think of right now. You want me to take first watch?"

Anibal shook his head. "No need. You three get some rest."

Nomad glanced at Recondo.

"Nobody out-sneaks a Tucaro, Nomad," he assured her. "You can sleep easy here."

Nomad glanced around at the trees. She wasn't so sure about that.

* * *

She slept better than she thought she would, lulled by the crackling of the fire and Recondo and Outback's voices as they quietly caught up. Even the Tucaros chattering in…Tucaran? Tucarish?…was reassuring. She wasn't alone.

That wasn't to say that couldn't change. Soon, she'd be dressed in an enemy's uniform, walking straight into a Cobra stronghold. Anything could happen.

She gave the abbreviated history of herself to Recondo that morning. He listened without interrupting too much - except to ask a few questions, like how she'd gone about finding food, and if she'd eaten anything bad.

She had, and she told him so, but she didn't go into details. It hadn't been pretty; she'd been sure she was going to die.

"Speaking of food…" She fished around in her pack for a couple of MREs. "You want -"

"Save them," Recondo advised. "Looks like Anibal's cousins are making breakfast today."

She glanced across to the fire, where a couple of Tucaro Indians were cutting up a large snake and spearing the meat onto skewers. "Well, anything's better than 'Meal: Ready to Eat', right?"

"Exactly."

A few minutes later, the Tucaros approached with grins on their faces. They went straight to Nomad with the dish of snake skewers.

"They think I'm gonna be put off, don't they?" she asked Recondo dryly.

"I'd say so."

Nomad, Outback and Recondo - who thanked the Indians for them - grabbed a skewer each. Nomad tucked into hers hungrily. The last thing she'd eaten was chocolate cake…and she'd worked _that_ off with Lowlight in the rec room not long after.

Another Tucaro joined them, holding a bowl. Anibal wasn't far behind.

Nomad peered into the bowl as the Tucaro put it on the ground beside her. "Okay, I draw the line at spiders," she said, glancing doubtfully at the crunchy-looking eight-legged…things. She didn't like spiders.

"We Tucaros consider them a delicacy," Anibal explained.

"Would it offend anyone if I didn't eat them?"

"No…but it's an experience. Are you sure you won't try one?"

Nomad gave him a small smile. "Uh…" She turned to Recondo for help. He winked at her, then looked away, whistling cheerfully. "Thanks a lot," she muttered.

The Tucaro leader pushed the dish toward her.

"Go on, Nomad," Outback said, picking up one of the fried arachnids. "Fifty bucks says you can't do it."

Nomad raised an eyebrow at him. So he didn't think she could eat a spider? She'd see about that. Before she had time to actually think it over and put herself off, she grabbed one of the spiders and shoved it into her mouth, legs and all.

"Atta girl!" Recondo cheered, encouraging the Tucaros to applaud her.

She chewed as quickly as she could, then swallowed with a violent shudder. The outside was crunchy, but the insides were unpleasantly gooey. She could almost _feel_ her face going pale, and groaned. "No offence, Anibal, but you can keep your delicacy."

Outback grinned at her smugly. She could hear the spider legs crunching as he chewed deliberately.

"Shut up, smart - urk." She held up a hand, covered her mouth with the other for a moment, unsure whether she was going to be sick or not, then shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

Outback chuckled. "I owe you when we get home."

"Keep your money," she retorted. "I only did it because you said I couldn't."

"Typical. But it was worth the fifty bucks just to see your face."

"Bitch."

Recondo checked his watch. "We should make a start. If we leave now, we can get to the 'drome before noon. That gives us plenty of time to check things out."

Washing the taste of spider out of her mouth with a sip of water from her canteen, Nomad slung the straps of her rucksack over her shoulders and picked up her assault rifle. "Let's go."

* * *

The Tucaros walked ahead of them, slipping easily through the rainforest with barely a sound. They didn't want to go the same way they had when they'd first discovered the Cobra Terrordrome, just in case the trail had been discovered. The way the Tucaros moved, Nomad highly doubted that the Cobras would have noticed anything was amiss.

They still made her nervous. Every now and then one would disappear, maybe scouting ahead or taking drag, and would materialise - for lack of a better word - right beside them a few minutes later. They had a good laugh each time Nomad jumped and swore when she noticed one of them silently padding along beside her. When they weren't playing tricks on her, they amused her by whistling bird calls. At Recondo's insistence, they showed her different types of edible plants, bugs and fungus. Outback helped occasionally.

The games stopped as they neared the Terrordrome. Half an hour from it, the group fell into complete silence. The Joes left their packs with one of the younger Tucaro boys, taking only their rifles with them. The poor kid didn't look happy to be left behind, but a sharp word from Anibal silenced his protests.

They crept onward, on the lookout for Cobra patrols, and finally, there it was. The Terrordrome was a pre-fabricated fortress, shipped in pieces which were then put together on site. They were small, compared to other bases, but still large enough to make Nomad wonder how Cobra had managed to get it here and built without anyone noticing.

…Then again, Outback _had_ told her on the flight over that Sierra Gordo was an unstable country. Maybe it was just that nobody cared.

Apparently, the Joes had had their fair share of trouble in Sierra Gordo. Outback had told a few stories to pass the time on the plane - Nomad had scoffed in disbelief at the one where Stalker had been dragged underwater by a crocodile and got away by stabbing it in the head with a knife. She'd have to ask the Ranger if it was true when she got back to the Pit…

They'd decided to wait until dark to lure away three of the Cobra guards and take their places, figuring the night shift inside the 'drome might be easier to get around. That meant five hours of sitting in the trees, just watching and waiting.

Nomad swore under her breath. It was going to be a long, sweaty five hours.

* * *

Recondo whistled. Nomad opened her eyes quickly and looked up. It had been her turn to grab a quick nap. She'd managed to get in fifteen minutes of sleep.

"Time to go?" she asked quietly.

"They're changing guards now," Outback said with a nod. His eyes were fixed on the main entrance of the Terrordrome, where several Cobra troops were silhouetted against the light from inside. "The one on the left's mine."

Recondo studied the Cobras. "The one heading around to the back is the smallest," he said, turning to Nomad.

She nodded. "I've got him."

"Good. Keep an eye on him. Don't take his place until halfway through the shift."

"I know," she said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. They'd been over the plan during the trek - lure the guards away halfway through their two hour shift, take their place, get into the Terrordrome and start searching for intel. Outback had set a time limit of three hours to search before they had to get out and start heading back to the rally point for pickup.

The other integral part of the plan was 'don't get caught'.

"Good luck."

She gave Recondo, Outback and Anibal a thumbs up, then strode away, accompanied by one of Anibal's uncles, a craggy man who would have looked fearsome even without the war paint, rifle and machete. Once she'd taken out the Cobra troop, he'd drag the body back to the chosen point and tie him up with the other two guards.

Her target stopped for a brief chat with the guard he was replacing, then leaned against the wall of the 'drome. Nomad chose a spot a few feet behind the tree line which offered her a good view of the entire back wall, yet still gave her good cover. The Tucaro - she'd taken to calling him Bob, since she couldn't say his name - leaned casually against a tree trunk.

It seemed like every time she checked her watch, only a few minutes had passed. Her legs started to cramp from kneeling in one place, her hands started to sweat. As the hour grew slowly closer, her heart started to beat faster.

Now. _Finally_. Nomad stood and took a deep breath, then snapped a branch off the tree as loudly as she could. The Cobra stood to attention, peering into the darkness. He was about ten metres away - Cobra hadn't cleared much forest around the Terrordrome.

Nomad figured they were probably trying to save on expenses by skimping on the security perimeter. Cobra could be tight like that. And who'd think they'd be attacked in the middle of a rainforest when nobody knew - or cared - that they were there, anyway?

Big mistake. Nomad thrashed the branch around, making as much noise as she could.

The guy took a few steps forward, then glanced around.

Nomad rolled her eyes impatiently and handed her rifle to Bob, gesturing for him to hide, then she stripped off her camouflage shirt, untucked her tank top and adjusted her fatigues a little. She rubbed most of the paint from her face and quickly unstrapped the knife from her wrist. Then - with a deep breath - she stepped into view, hands held high. "Please help me," she begged quietly, adding a small sob and hoping it sounded believable. "I got lost."

The Cobra relaxed visibly upon seeing a young woman emerge from the trees rather than a big, tough soldier. "Well, hey there," he said, sounding surprised.

Nomad eyed the rifle he held warily.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." He pulled the red mask down around his neck and smiled at her. He was only a couple of inches taller than her, but up close he was stockier than she'd realised. Hopefully, the uniform wouldn't be too baggy. "How'd you get all the way out here, honey?"

"I…I was doing some conservation work with a volunteer group," she said. "I guess I wandered too far away, and then I couldn't hear or see them anymore, and then I panicked, and…and…I've been walking for hours."

"It's okay, calm down." The troop moved closer, reaching out to her. "Let's get you inside. My name's Mitch."

Nomad sniffed. "Th - thanks. Can you help me find my pack? I dropped it back there when I saw you." She pointed back into the trees.

Mitch glanced past her. "Well…okay. You wait here. Don't move, there are armed guards all around this place. We don't need one of them shooting you, do we?"

He reminded her a little of Dusty - he had the same kind of open face. "Sure," Nomad said, shaking the thought off. He was the enemy; if he knew who she was, he'd have shot her on sight.

The Cobra headed onto the trees. "Whereabouts did you leave it?" he called after a moment. "I can't see it. Is there anything in it you really need?"

Nomad joined him, looking around the ground. "I'm sure it was around here, somewhere…"

"Maybe -"

Anibal's uncle smashed Mitch over the head with the butt of his gun. The Cobra troop crumpled, and Nomad immediately set about removing his uniform. "Thanks," she said to Bob with a nod and a thumbs up. He returned it with a grin, then easily slung Mitch over his shoulder and carried him away.

Nomad strapped her knife onto her arm, then retrieved her shirt and put it back on.

The uniform was a little big, but not so it was noticeable. She picked up Mitch's rifle and jogged back to his position by the Terrordrome, mask pulled up over her face.

The remaining hour of his shift was uneventful. She turned as her replacement strode up to her. "All quiet, Mitch?"

Nomad gave a slight nod.

"Figures. Nothing exciting _ever_ happens out here. I _knew_ I should've transferred to Broca Beach."

Nomad grunted.

"Alright, alright." The replacement waved her away. "S'pose if I was you I'd wanna get back to my bunk, too. Night shift _sucks_, man."

With a quiet sigh of relief, Nomad hurried back around to the main entrance. The rest of the guards were already heading inside and handing in their rifles. There was Outback; it was easy to spot him, he was the largest out of them all. Recondo was a little harder to find, but she eventually spotted him lurking near a doorway leading off to some other part of the 'drome.

Well…now she was on her own. For three hours, anyway.

Nomad repressed the urge to duck out of sight as another pair of Cobra troops passed her in the corridor. Even though she was wearing the uniform and the mask, she felt exposed - it was worse now than it had been back at 'Robac and Co'. Then, nobody had known who she was.

Well, not until somebody leaked her details, at least.

But now, Cobra knew she was a Joe. Worse yet, she was a Joe who'd infiltrated their building, and who'd had a hand in killing several Cobras during her extraction.

If she got caught - hell, if _any_ of them got caught - they wouldn't be going home.

She cautiously opened the next door she came to and stuck her head into the room beyond. It was an office of some kind - and there were two filing cabinets behind the desk.

Nomad locked the door behind her, crossed the room and began to search the cabinets. The top drawer of the first contained personnel files, mostly of a medical nature. Not the kind of intel she was looking for. The second drawer held mostly books and medical journals. The third and fourth drawers were filled with more reference books and supplies; pens, spare notepads…she was sure the bottom drawer of the cabinet in Lifeline and Doc's office looked pretty much the same.

She turned to the other cabinet and opened the top drawer - or she tried to, and almost yanked the cabinet down on top of her. The drawer was locked. "Dammit."

On the other hand, a locked drawer could only mean there was something interesting in it. Right?

Nomad checked her watch. She had forty five minutes left…thirty to search, and fifteen to find her way back to the main entrance.

She turned to the desk. It was clean, with only a few pens and pencils and a notepad on it. There were three drawers down the right side. Nomad rifled through them all, hoping to find the key for the cabinet. She swore when it wasn't there.

Forty minutes left. She couldn't leave without finding out what was in that damn cabinet. She pulled her knife, wondering if she could force the lock.

Nomad spun suddenly as the doorknob rattled. "I don't remember locking this…" a man's voice muttered.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Nomad glanced around wildly, but there was nowhere to hide. It didn't matter that she was wearing a Cobra uniform - anybody who'd locked themselves in a room they probably weren't supposed to be in looked dodgy.

She squeezed herself into the kneehole of the desk just as the door opened. For a moment, she held her breath, but apparently nothing looked amiss. She was glad she'd closed all the drawers.

There was a soft thump right above her head as something was set down on the desk, and then she heard the rattle of keys being put down. Just the thing she was looking for.

A pair of legs strode into view. "Hey, what the -"

Nomad unfolded herself, snapping her feet out at the man's knees. He jumped back quickly enough to avoid having his legs broken, stumbling into one of the filing cabinets. Nomad pulled the knife from the sheath on her arm and held it to the guy's throat. "What's in that filing cabinet?"

"You…you're not Cobra!"

"You bet I'm not, snakepuss. Open the drawers."

"SECUR -"

She smashed the heel of her palm into his nose, feeling it break. His eyes rolled up and he slid down the wall, blood dripping onto his white coat. Nomad snatched the keys and tried them in the cabinet until she found the right one.

Jackpot. After a quick flick-through of the folders, Nomad grabbed as many as she could and stuffed them inside her shirt. There was nothing else of interest in the other drawers.

She glanced quickly at her watch. Thirty minutes left. She couldn't walk around the Terrordrome with classified files inside her uniform; it was time to go. She left the doctor as he was, sitting against the wall with his head lolling forward; she had no qualms about leaving him there bleeding.

She was almost at the door when it burst open and three more Cobra troops - the armed security - ran in. "What's going on?"

"Intruder!" Nomad shouted without hesitation, pointing down the hall in the opposite direction she intended on running. "He took out the doc!"

"Outta the way!" Two of the guys took off. Nomad almost laughed at how gullible they were.

The other troop scrutinised her. "Why are _you_ in here?"

Damn. This one had brains. "Personal matter," she said shortly.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked sceptically. "So how come you didn't get the 'intruder'?"

"He surprised me," she said with a shrug.

"Uh huh. You're coming with me." He gestured for her to move.

"What, you'd just leave the doc here to bleed?"

The troop took his eyes off her for a moment. It was all she needed to raise her arm and hurl the knife at him. The handle bounced harmlessly off his helmet.

"Son of a bitch!" Nomad crash-tackled the guy before he realised what was going on, landing on top of him. He recovered quickly and flipped her off, then looped the strap of his gun around her neck and yanked it tight before she had time to stand. She jerked her head back, catching him in the jaw, gasping for breath as the strap loosened for just a moment. She stuck one hand up between her throat and the strap just before he tightened it again, then smashed her other elbow into his ribs. It probably hurt her arm just as much as it hurt him - but he kept going, grabbing her wrist and dragging her around to face him. They were both still on their knees. His hands went to her throat, thumbs digging in hard. She gagged, trying to suck in air and panicking when she couldn't. She did the only thing she could think of, and swiped at his face with her nails.

It worked. He jerked away and let go. Nomad fell back onto her ass and elbows, then, seeing an opportunity, smashed her foot into his groin. He collapsed instantly, groaning and clutching himself.

Nomad lay back on the floor for a moment, rubbing her throat and waiting until the spots vanished from her eyes. Once she'd caught her breath, she rolled to her knees and crawled to pick up her knife from where it had landed.

"I don't think so." A hand grabbed her wrist. Startled, Nomad spun and plunged the knife into the Cobra troop's neck. Blood gushed as she pulled the blade out, spurting over her arm. The Cobra dropped, twitching, gasping and clutching weakly at his throat, wide eyes staring at her. Blood quickly pooled around his head and shoulders.

She turned away and wiped the blood off the face of her watch. Twenty five minutes. If she didn't -

The alarm sounded, blasting through the Terrordrome's PA system.

"Shit." Nomad snatched up the Cobra troop's rifle, trying not to look at his face, and bolted.

Cobra troops were already running all over the place, searching for the cause of the alarm. Nomad realised that, running around in her stolen uniform, she didn't draw as much attention as she thought she would. In fact, the alarm had done her a favour.

It might not have been so good for Recondo and Outback, though.

As she ran, she held her blood soaked right arm to her chest. Not only did it look like she was wounded, but it also kept the folders stashed inside her shirt from rustling and falling out. As Cobra troops passed her, she kept pointing back the way she'd come from, sending them in the opposite direction to the main entrance. Once or twice she had to join the chase, then fall behind and slip away.

Finally, with three minutes to spare, she reached the entrance. There were several guards in front of the door - two of them she recognised. She grinned under her mask, stepped into view and strode to the gate. "You," she said, gesturing to the real Cobra. "I'm outta the hunt. Wanna take my place?"

"But my orders are -"

"Your orders aren't gonna matter much if whoever's infiltrated the place blows us all to hell," she snapped.

Right on cue, they heard a muffled _fwump_ from somewhere, and the ground rocked beneath their feet. Nomad didn't know what had caused it, but it was perfect timing, and she used it. "See? Get moving!"

The Cobra took off.

Nomad glanced at the other two. Outback pulled his mask down. "What was that?"

"_I_ didn't do it," she retorted, then looked up in alarm as another explosion went off, much closer.

Recondo shook his head. "I think I know. I'll tell you if we can get out of here, now."

"Sounds good." Outback slammed his fist on the button that opened the large doors, then ducked out as soon as there was a gap big enough. Nomad went next, followed by Recondo.

They didn't stop running until they were well beneath the trees. Outback immediately turned to Nomad and reached for her.

"I'm fine," she said, waving her arm around to demonstrate. "There was a situation that got a little messy, that's all. Recondo, what was that explosion?"

"I get the feeling it was the Tucaros," he explained. "Anibal said they had explosives…it'd be just like him to take out that Terrordrome."

"But we told him -"

"This rainforest is our home. Cobra has no place here."

Nomad started as Anibal and the Tucaros emerged silently from the trees. "Would you guys stop doing that? You're as bad as the ninjas!" she hissed.

Anibal gave her a look that was only slightly apologetic. "Another explosion is set to go off soon. We should move away."

Outback stared "How much C4 do you have?"

"Enough," Anibal answered evasively.

Nomad got the feeling that the Terrordrome wouldn't be there much longer.

Outback checked his watch. "We need to get going anyway; by the time we get back to the -"

A bullet zinged past him and bit into a tree. They all hit the ground, rolling for cover.

"Go," Anibal urged Recondo.

Recondo reached over and shook the Tucaro leader's hand. "I think next time _you_ should visit _me_."

"I will try."

Recondo rose to a crouch, gesturing for Nomad and Outback to follow him. Nomad turned to say goodbye to Anibal, but he'd already disappeared.

She was glad he and his family were on their side.

* * *

They'd been in Sierra Gordo for thirty five and a half hours. Another thirty minutes and Wild Bill would be there in the Tomahawk to pick them up.

Even from the clearing, Nomad, Recondo and Outback could see the smoke rising from what was left of the Terrordrome. It had blown not long after Anibal had sent them away; even as far away as the Joes were, they felt the ground shake.

Enough C4, indeed. What an understatement.

They'd walked quickly without breaks, not talking. None of them said if they'd found anything of use - that could wait until debriefing. All they needed to focus on was getting back to the pickup point.

They got there with plenty of time to spare. Now, they were waiting, all three of them tense, half-expecting Cobra to sneak up on them.

Nomad paced up and down her stretch of the clearing's perimeter, making a point not to check her watch. Outback was patrolling the opposite side of the clearing. Recondo was roving, doing his jungle thing.

After what seemed like forever, Nomad heard the sound of chopper rotors. Beaming, she turned in the direction she'd last seen Recondo heading -

"What the -"

She barely managed to duck as a fist lashed out at her face. Whoever it was got a glancing blow to her cheek. She reeled, but squeezed the trigger of her rifle, firing a short warning burst for Outback and Recondo. The gun was torn from her hands by a bulky man with the scar on his cheek.

"Well done, brother."

Nomad spun to see another man, identical to the first but without the scar. What were their names? She couldn't remember.

"It wasn't much of a challenge."

The unscarred twin looked down at Nomad. "If you surrender, we'll see to it that your cell is made as comfortable as possible."

Nomad scowled. "Go to hell."

Gunfire erupted from close by. The twins reacted astonishingly quickly, sprinting away. Recondo appeared beside her, snapping a full clip into his gun. Nomad picked her own up.

The sound of the chopper grew louder, and the big Tomahawk loomed into view. The door slid open, and Beachhead and Lifeline leaned out. "Let's go!"

"Go!" Recondo gave Nomad a shove. She bolted into the clearing - the chopper was only about thirty metres away.

"Nomad! Get down!"

She hit the dirt as Outback darted from behind the trees on the other side, gun blazing. His wasn't the only one; she could hear Recondo's gun from somewhere behind her.

Actually, there was gunfire all around. The rotors drowned some of it out, but it was there. She rolled onto one knee and saw a raggedy looking - but large - group of Cobra troops approaching from all directions. Where had they all come from? What about Anibal and the Tucaros?

"Nomad, come on!"

She ignored Lifeline and returned fire on the snakes, taking down a line of them. She heard a familiar crack from the Tomahawk - Lowlight's sniper rifle. He was helping to pick them off.

"Nomad, you get your scrawny ass in this chopper now!" Beachhead roared. "Outback! Hurry it up!"

Nomad covered Outback as he made a break for it, turning to watch Lifeline and Beach slap him on the back as he leaped into the chopper.

A round flew by her head. She ducked lower into the grass, crawling toward the chopper.

She heard Lifeline's voice again. "Bill, Recondo's hit!"

Nomad stuck her head up to see the jungle troop staggering out of the trees on the far side of the clearing, shooting with one hand, the other held to his thigh. As she watched, his leg buckled and he fell. "Go!" she shouted, waving the chopper away. "Pick him up!"

She heard Beach's snarl of frustration even over the rotors. Then, "Lowlight! What're you doin'?"

Nomad glanced over her shoulder while firing at the advancing Cobras. The chopper was moving toward Recondo, but Lowlight was running toward her. "No, no, no! Lowlight, go back!"

The sniper dropped to one knee and fired off shots in quick succession. Nomad crawled through the grass, stopping every now and then to sit up and aim a short burst at the Cobras. There weren't many left now…but they were using the grass for cover, too.

She reached Lowlight. "What the hell -"

"Go," he ordered her, grabbing her arm and pushing her away. His goggles glinted.

She turned and raised her gun. "What about the rest of -"

He shoved her again. "I gave you an order!" he snapped - and then he fell back, puffs of red exploding from his chest.

Nomad jerked backwards, the red spray warm on her face. No. That hadn't just happened. Couldn't have. "Lowlight, get up. Get up!"

The chopper descended - very close - putting iron between her and the approaching Cobra troops. Lowlight still wasn't moving. "Coop!"

She was vaguely aware of someone yelling at her. She ignored them, grabbing her rifle and lunging to her feet.

"Grab her, Beach, _grab her_!"

She could hear rounds pinging off the sides of the chopper. She wanted it to move so she could shoot somebody. She went to run around the Tomahawk - but somebody grabbed the strap of her rifle and yanked her back so hard her feet almost left the ground.

"Lemmego!" she snarled, twisting and giving whoever it was a hard shove in the chest.

It turned out to be Beachhead, and he moved all of two inches. He grabbed her by the back of her shirt and literally threw her into the helicopter.

If he hadn't jumped in straight after her, she would have leaped straight out again. "Where's Low -"

"We've got him!" Lifeline said, taking a firm hold of her shoulders and turning her so she could see the sniper lying on the floor, eyes closed. There were a lot of holes in the chest of his jumpsuit. "We've got him."

"Gimme my gun, I'm gonna -"

The big Ranger slammed the door shut and turned to her, ripping his balaclava off and glaring. "You're going to sit down, and you're going to shut up," he said quietly. "Don't make me say it again."

She automatically did as she was told - apparently even though her head wasn't working right, her sense of self-preservation was. She'd realise later that she'd never heard Beachhead speak so deliberately - or dangerously.

"Is the chin turret armed? Let me get -"

Beachhead rounded on her. "I said shut up," he said, jabbing a finger at her.

"Beach," Lifeline said. There was a tone in his voice Nomad had never heard before. "I need your help."

"I'll help," Nomad said, pushing past the Ranger.

Lifeline looked up. "Nomad, not now. Go sit up front with Bill."

"But -"

"Now!" Lifeline snapped.

Nomad stared at the medic, taken aback. Then, with a nod, she hurried to the cockpit and sat beside the cowboy.

"Don't you worry, darlin'," Wild Bill said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "He's in good hands."

Nomad leaned over the back of the seat, watching as Lifeline opened his medical kit and rummaged through it.

"Lifeline," Beach said urgently.

"What?"

"He ain't breathin'."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Okay. This chapter was kind of hard to write. Beware, Nomad's feeling sorry for herself again, and probably will for some of the next chapter, too. I'll try not to make it too unbearable :P

By the way, this story was never supposed to be this long. I think it's about the longest I've ever written...counting originals. Guess that's what I get for not planning!

But that's enough from me. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Wild Bill reached over and clamped a hand over the buckle of Nomad's seatbelt as she fumbled with it. "Don't you even think about it," he said firmly. "Lifeline needs space, not people crowdin' 'round gettin' in his way."

"But -"

"Nomad, you ain't a medic. Ain't nothin' you can do that Lifeline can't. Let him do his job."

She nodded reluctantly, but still twisted sideways in her seat. She couldn't tear her eyes from the men in the back. Beachhead, Outback and Lifeline were leaning over Lowlight. His goggles had been carelessly flung aside - they were near her foot. She picked them up and hung them around her neck for safekeeping. Lowlight's face was white; blood was pooling on the floor beneath him. It covered the knees of Beach's fatigues and Lifeline's red uniform.

Lifeline pressed his fingers to the sniper's throat. "No pulse. Outback, Beachhead, CPR," he ordered.

Nomad sat up straighter, her own heart pounding so hard she thought they must be able to hear it over the rotors. Lowlight couldn't be dead. Please, God, he couldn't die. He _couldn't_. She couldn't lose another friend.

It wasn't fair. Hadn't she been through enough shit already?

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that last thought was selfish. She wanted Lowlight to live so she wouldn't have his blood on her hands, too.

Outback linked his hands together and began to compress Lowlight's chest. When he was done, Beachhead pinched the sniper's nose shut and breathed into his mouth while Lifeline pulled a syringe from his kit.

It seemed like a long time. Later, Lifeline would tell her that it had only been about twenty seconds before Beachhead rocked back, hunched his shoulders and rested his hands on his knees with a sigh of relief. "He's breathin'."

"Pulse is weak," Lifeline said, checking. "Keep an eye on him. I have to stop the bleeding…"

"Is he okay?" Nomad asked, ignoring Wild Bill as he hushed her. "Will he -"

The medic turned and shot an irritated glance at her. "I don't know!"

What hope was there if the medic didn't know if Lowlight was going to make it? Nomad nodded, trying to keep her face blank.

Lifeline must've seen something there, though. His expression softened slightly. "I'm gonna do everything I can to pull him through. Just give me time and -"

"Lost his pulse again, Lifeline," Outback interrupted loudly. He and Beachhead immediately began CPR again.

Lifeline swore and pulled the cap off the syringe. Nomad turned away just as he jabbed the needle into Lowlight's chest - it must have been adrenalin in the syringe. She leaned forward in her seat, staring at nothing with her hands pressed to her face. Wild Bill reached over and rubbed her back; she barely felt it. Her whole body felt like it had gone numb - except for the tightness in her chest that went all the way up into her throat and made it hard to breathe.

It was her fault. If she'd just made a run for the Tomahawk when Lifeline had first called her, she wouldn't have been caught out in the open. Lowlight wouldn't have jumped out to help her; he wouldn't be lying half-dead in the back. It was her fault. Just like Matches, Spider, Hotshot and Skipper had been her fault -

"Nomad."

She looked around to see Outback peering at her, wiping his sweaty brow with his sleeve. Lowlight was breathing again - she could see his bullet-riddled chest rising and falling fitfully. Lifeline had cut the sniper's jumpsuit away - it wasn't dull blue anymore, the front was a deep maroon colour, almost black. "What?"

"Look after Recondo."

She figured he was trying to distract her - it wasn't going to work. But there was nothing she could do for her sniper, and she didn't want to just sit there and be a useless waste of space.

…_Her_ sniper?

The thought sent a new tremor of fear through her. She shouldn't think like that. What if Lowlight didn't make it? What would she do then? What would the Joes think of her, knowing that she'd got one of them killed? Hawk would kick her out for sure, and then she'd be on her own.

She didn't think she could do that again. Not now she knew what it was like to be a Joe.

Apparently noticing that she hadn't moved yet, Beachhead glared over his shoulder. "That was an order, Nomad! Get off your ass! Move it, now!"

"O-okay."

"What'd Ah _not_ hear you say?" the Ranger barked.

There was only one way to answer that tone, and Nomad was actually a little grateful for it. The command was what she needed - something else to think about for a moment. "Sorry, Sergeant Major! Yes, sir, Outback!"

"That's better."

Recondo was lying across a couple of seats just behind the cockpit. One leg of his Cobra uniform had been cut off, and a bandage around his thigh was already stained red. His face was pale and he looked a little woozy. Lifeline must've already given him some painkillers.

She offered her canteen. "Want a drink, Recondo?"

"Do I ever. Don't happen to have anythin' a little stronger than water, though, do you?" Recondo grinned up at her.

She knelt beside the jungle trooper, forced a weak grin and helped him sit up. His hands shook as he took the canteen; she steadied him. "Sorry. All out. Anyway, alcohol and painkillers don't mix. Lifeline'd kill me. Or he'd get Beach to, at least."

"True." When he'd had a mouthful, Recondo lay back and studied her. "You and Lowlight?"

Nomad hesitated, then nodded. "How'd you -"

"I've seen that look before, on a certain redhead's face when a certain ninja was in trouble." He turned to watch Lifeline working on the sniper, with Beachhead and Outback standing by, both on edge. "Don't worry. Lifeline's not called Lifeline for no reason."

Nomad sighed and followed Recondo's gaze. "I know," she said. "I trust Lifeline."

The medic looked up at her, gave a brief, wan smile and quickly went back to work.

* * *

It felt like hours had passed. Nomad didn't know exactly how long it had been before the Tomahawk landed on the deck of the Flagg - but she thought it was too long.

Outback slid the door open before Wild Bill had completely touched down. Waiting outside was a team of greenshirt medics led by a Joe she didn't know. They hurried forward and eased Lowlight onto a gurney.

"Lifeline an' Stretcher'll look after him," Wild Bill assured her. "They're two of the best; that's why they're Joes."

Nomad jumped out of the chopper and went to follow, but a large hand grabbed her elbow and stopped her in her tracks. "Where d'you think you're goin'?" Beachhead asked. "You an' Outback got a debrief in the captain's office in ten minutes."

Nomad glanced across at Outback as he and a pair of the greenies helped Recondo out of the chopper, then hurried after Lifeline, Stretcher and the others. "But…I want to -"

"Lowlight ain't gonna get better just coz you're sittin' by him," Beachhead pointed out. His voice was gruff - but not as gruff as it could have been. "You're a soldier; start actin' like one. Go to the debrief an' let Duke know what you found in that damned Terrordrome."

Shit. The files. She'd forgotten all about them - they were still stuffed down her shirt. She'd even forgotten she was still wearing the Cobra uniform. Lowlight's goggles suddenly felt heavy around her neck.

Beachhead was right. She needed to get her mind back on the job. "I - okay. You got it, Beach." She handed him the goggles.

The Ranger nodded and spun on his heel.

"Um…Beach?"

He turned back impatiently. "For Gawd's sake, what?"

"Do you think -"

He anticipated her question and held a hand up. "Ah dunno, Nomad. Ah ain't a medic." He jerked his head toward the door that led to the mess hall. "Get goin'. You can see how Lowlight's doin' after. Any changes, Ah'll come get you myself. Deal?"

Nomad nodded. "Deal."

Beachhead jabbed a finger at the door again before he loped away.

Nomad strode to the door. Focus. You're a Joe. And you've been through this before. You can deal with it, just like you did then.

She took a deep breath and tried to push all thoughts of Lowlight from her mind. She ran through the mission as she headed for the office, remembering it in as much detail as she could. Duke would want to know everything - the top sergeant was meticulous.

She was directed to a door at the end of a long corridor. She was just about to walk through it when somebody called her name.

Outback jogged to meet her. He'd finally ditched the Cobra outfit, but she couldn't help noticing that Lowlight's blood had soaked through onto his fatigues. Outback noticed the glance and shifted awkwardly, scratching at his beard.

Nomad averted her eyes quickly, cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "Time for the debrief?"

"Time for the debrief," he agreed. "Now we find out if it was worth it."

Nomad pulled the files from her shirt. "It'd better be," she said darkly.

Outback opened the door and they stepped into the small office. Nomad frowned when all she saw was an open laptop on the desk - when Beach had mentioned the debrief with Duke, she'd automatically assumed the top sergeant was on board. Then she realised they had a link to the Pit. On screen, Duke was sitting in what looked like the War Room. He wasn't looking at the laptop; he was holding a coffee mug in one hand and twirling a pen absently in the other. It looked like he'd just woken up from a nap.

"Hey, Top," Outback said, dragging the two office chairs into a position where both of them were in view of the webcam. Duke looked up quickly. Nomad sat down and waved wearily.

Duke nodded at the webcam, then frowned. "_Who's blood is that, Outback?_"

"Lowlight's, and a little bit might be Recondo's. There was a situation at the pickup."

"_You better tell me the whole story._"

* * *

"_And how are they?_"

Outback shrugged. "Recondo's fine. He's pumped full of Lifeline's magic pain relief and sleepin' like a baby. Lowlight is…" The big man stole a quick sideways glance at Nomad, then chose his words carefully. "Lifeline and Stretcher were working on him when I left."

Duke's eyes flicked to the side, and Nomad knew he was looking at her on his own screen. "_Have you had a look at those files you swiped?_"

She shook her head. "Haven't had time, sir." She flipped open the top one and held it up, facing the laptop. "I only took a quick glance when I found them. Grabbed as many as I could, because what I saw looked like it was something to do with chemicals." She shrugged. "There's numbers and formulas."

"_Is it the neurotoxin?_"

"I'm not sure, sir. I never did chemistry." She turned the file back and skimmed it quickly. "Nuh uh…sorry, Duke, but I can't make much sense of this. Airtight'd be a better bet. Or maybe Doc."

"_Alright. Outback, keep those files and the discs you found close. Wild Bill will bring you home tomorrow morning._"

"You got it, Duke."

The top sergeant reached out, and then the feed from his computer died. Outback closed their own laptop and glanced at Nomad.

She handed him the files. "Aren't you gonna see what's on the discs?"

After they'd split up, Outback had ended up in one of the Terrordrome labs. He'd found three discs by one of the computers and stuck them in his pocket before getting caught snooping around. Neither of them was quite sure who'd got the alarm set off - Nomad thought it'd been her, when the doctor found her. Outback thought it was him when he wasn't quite fast enough to deck both of the Cobras who'd seen him.

Outback shook his head. "That's not my job. I'll leave it for Mainframe and Breaker and Dial Tone. Hell, for all we know it could just be Cobra porn, an' I ain't subjecting myself to _that_."

Despite herself, Nomad grinned. "Good call."

He studied her for a moment. "You okay?"

"Fine," she lied.

He called her on it. "Do I need to kick your ass for lying to a CO?"

She kept her face carefully blank. "I'm gonna go grab a shower," she said evasively, gesturing to the dried blood on her Cobra uniform and standing.

Outback tactfully let it go. "Uh…you should probably wait a while before going to the infirmary," he said. "Lowlight…it's pretty bad."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she nodded. "Right."

"Look, what happened out there -"

"I really want to get out of this uniform, Outback. Can we talk later?"

He gave her a doubtful look, as if he didn't want to let her go just yet, but then he nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks." She left the room before Outback could see how worried she really was.

* * *

The hot shower didn't help. It just meant she had nothing to distract her…nothing to stop her thinking.

Nomad actually scared herself when she stepped into the bathroom - there was a mirror on the opposite wall, above the sinks, and the first thing she saw when she walked in was herself. Her skin was pale, contrasting sharply against the dark circles under her eyes and the fine red mist that had dried on her face.

She'd forgotten that, too. Lowlight's blood. She shuddered involuntarily, remembering how warm it had felt.

When she was done showering - she made it quick - Nomad tossed both the Cobra uniform and her camouflaged shirt out. Both were too covered with blood to keep. She knew from experience that laundry would never get the stains out.

She was now restlessly pacing the medical office in her fatigues and tank top. She'd been there for the last hour and a half; Beachhead had given up on trying to tell her to sit down and impatiently gone to the mess hall for something to eat.

Nomad spun as she heard the office door open. "Lifeline?"

There was blood all over the front of his uniform. He looked tired; he slipped his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes.

"He's dead, isn't he?" she asked. Her voice was hollow. She hadn't sounded like that for a long time.

For a moment, Lifeline just stared at her. "Nomad -"

"I knew it." She turned away, shaking her head and clenching her jaw. "Everyone I care about dies. Why would he be any different?"

She heard Lifeline hurrying toward her, and then his hands were on her shoulders, turning her to face him. He smiled slightly. "He's not dead, Nomad. He made it."

It took her a few seconds to realise what the medic had said. "But…he was a mess. He -"

"He lost a lot of blood, but he's stabilising now."

"He's..." Without warning - hell, _Nomad_ didn't even know she was going to do it - she threw her arms tightly around Lifeline's neck and pressed her face into his shoulder.

He pulled back to arm's length, wary of getting blood on her, and rubbed her arms reassuringly. "Don't get me wrong, he's not out of the woods just yet," he warned. "It's still very touchy. I won't lie to you: we almost lost him. I just wanted you to know that - for the moment - he's doing okay."

It felt like something had unwound inside her. Nomad backed away and leaned on the desk, her eyes closing as she hung her head and sighed in relief.

Lifeline gave her an encouraging look. "He's under some pretty heavy sedation, but you can go see him if you want."

Nomad hesitated. "I don't know if I can, Lifeline…"

"Well, I think you should. Come on." The medic guided her to the door with a hand on the small of her back.

Lowlight was in a room on his own. Nomad took in a sharp breath when she saw him lying in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and tubes sticking out of him. His chest was swathed in bandages. His face was still white, his breathing shallow. She could hear him wheezing from the doorway, even over the beeping of the medical equipment.

"It's not nice, but it's better than he was," Lifeline said quietly.

She could hardly look at the unconscious sniper. Had that been what she looked like when _she_ was in her coma? Had she looked so…vulnerable?

Lifeline put a hand on her shoulder and looked at her, his kind face filled with concern. "Do you want a few minutes?"

No. She didn't want to be alone with…that. She couldn't handle it - couldn't stand seeing Lowlight like that. It hurt, almost physically. The tight feeling in her chest was back…it was hard to breathe.

And then she nodded. Why the _hell_ did she nod?

"I'll be right outside," the medic said as he crossed to the door.

Nomad waited until the door clicked shut behind him, then turned her gaze back to Lowlight. She took a few slow steps forward, then sat down on the edge of the chair beside the bed. Trying not to move him too much, she tentatively took his hand. It was cold and…yes, clammy. It felt like she was back in the Amazon, holding Matches' hand. "Hey, Coop?"

No answer, of course. Not even a slight squeeze on her fingers.

She snuck an uneasy glance at the door, even though she knew Lifeline was outside. She was pretty sure he'd hit somebody before letting them in while she was there…or at least he'd use his wannabe ninja skills.

"Cooper? Can you hear me?" She didn't think he could. She didn't remember hearing anyone talking to her when _she'd_ been in a coma.

This was harder than talking to Matches' headstone had been. At least then she'd had some idea of what to say.

Still, there was one thing she had to get off her chest. "Well, just in case you _can _hear me…I'm sorry. It's my fault, Coop, and I'm s-sorry."

Nomad swiped at her eyes. She _wouldn't_ cry. It was her fault, she'd take the responsibility. She didn't get the luxury of crying.

Anyway…she already had four lives on her hands. What was one more?

"I should've known this'd happen," she murmured softly, shaking her head. "I should've just stayed away from you. Why didn't _you_ stay away from _me_? Why didn't you just stay in the fucking chopper?"

Because he'd gone after her. If she'd just jumped into the Tomahawk…

Nomad's breath caught in her throat. She knew what she had to do. There was only one thing she _could_ do.

This was the last time. Nobody else would die because of her.

She removed her hand from Lowlight's, then leaned over and brushed Lowlight's hair aside before kissing his forehead. Then she strode to the door.

Lifeline pushed off the wall and uncrossed his arms, looking at her as she walked past him. "Are you -"

"I'm fine," she said shortly. Then, in a gentler tone, she added, "Look after him for me, Lifeline."

"Huh? What's wrong? Nomad? _Nomad!_"

She didn't turn around. The sooner she distanced herself from him - and the rest of the Joes - the better.


	21. Chapter Twenty

First off, huge thanks to julips, Karama9 and willwrite4fics for putting up with me! Your advice and encouragement - as well as that from everyone who reviews - makes writing this a whole lot more fun for me! :D

I thought about cutting this chapter in half - I could have done it, there's a good place for it, but I didn't think it worked as well with the next chapter I have in mind. Sorry it's kinda long.

So as I said last chapter, Nomad's still feeling a little sorry for herself - it won't last much longer, promise :P And I hope Hawk's Hawkish enough for everyone!

I say it every time, I know: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hope you like this chapter!

* * *

The nightmare wasn't about the jungle of the Amazon, but the rainforest of Sierra Gordo. It was a bloodbath - Anibal and the rest of the Tucaros, Outback and Recondo, all cut down by gunfire. The chopper burst into a ball of flame, setting the clearing alight as Nomad watched on helplessly, unable to get to Wild Bill, Beachhead or Lifeline as they burned, screaming. She'd heard screams like that before - had probably sounded like that as Goldilocks worked her over - but she'd never heard them from people she liked. Her old team hadn't had time to scream - Matches had been past being able to by the time she'd regained consciousness.

And then Lowlight appeared beside her, trying to push her to safety. As his chest exploded, showering her with blood, he just looked at her, blue eyes accusing.

He knew it was her fault. He blamed her. And then he hit the ground, and his eyes were staring in a completely different way, and he was gone. Just like the others.

She spun around to see the twins - Tomax and Xamot, but she couldn't remember which one was which - standing behind her, flanked by a group of Cobra troops who all had their rifles trained on her. At a signal from the scarred twin, the guns lowered.

No. Not again. She couldn't be the only one left! Not -

Nomad woke up soaked with sweat, the sheets twisted around her legs. She flailed around for a moment, still half in her dream and thinking Lowlight's dead hand had grabbed her, then kicked the bedclothes off d and leaped to her feet, breathing hard. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs.

Shit. She hadn't had a dream that bad in weeks, and it had been a lot longer since she'd woken up panicked like that.

Nomad took a few deeps breaths, calming herself. It was just a nightmare. Lowlight wasn't dead. Yet. Lifeline was keeping watch over him and Recondo in the infirmary. Outback was in a cabin just down the hall, as were Wild Bill and Beachhead. They'd received a message from Duke a couple of hours after the debrief - Anibal had made contact with him and assured him that the Tucaros had suffered only a few minor injuries after the Joes had left them.

The clock read 5.21. The last time she'd looked, it had been 4.45. She wasn't surprised - she didn't know why she'd even bothered trying to sleep in the first place. Rubbing her face, she dressed and headed for the mess.

There weren't many people walking around the Flagg; just the night shift. She passed Stretcher as he emerged from the mess with a mug hot chocolate - he held the door for her and gave a small smile, but said nothing. In a way, it was reassuring; Lowlight hadn't got any worse, or Stretcher would've told her.

On the other hand, the sniper wasn't doing any better, either. Nomad gave a brief nod to the medic, and headed straight for the coffee.

* * *

She was jittery with caffeine by the time Outback, Beachhead, Wild Bill and Lifeline walked in together at six o'clock. Lifeline took one look at the jug by her elbow and eyed her off. "Did you get _any_ sleep?"

Nomad shrugged dismissively. "'Bout half an hour." She didn't think he could talk - Lifeline looked like he could do with a whole pot of coffee himself.

"Why didn't you come see me? I could've given you something."

She opened her mouth, but stopped as Beachhead gave a snort. "Can't solve everythin' with pills, medic."

"I _know_ that, but it's better than -"

"So who's fer bacon an' eggs?" Wild Bill interrupted loudly, tipping his hat back and giving them all a significant look. Lifeline and Beachhead both glanced at him and sat down quickly. Wild Bill didn't raise his voice often, so when he did, you listened. Nomad found herself wanting to grin at Beach's slightly shame-faced look.

"Me," Outback said eagerly. "I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday."

"How 'bout you, darlin'?" Bill asked, turning to Nomad. "You hungry?"

Nomad stood up. Wild Bill made great bacon and eggs - he always cooked the eggs just right and the bacon extra crispy - but she didn't want to eat.

She didn't want to be around the Joes, either. "No," she said. "I'll be out on the deck. Call me when it's time to go."

"You haven't eaten since lunch yesterday, either," Outback pointed out. "Why don't you -"

"I'm not hungry," she snapped, then immediately felt bad. "Sorry, Outback."

"Nomad -" Lifeline started.

Beachhead clamped a hand over the medic's mouth. "Go on," he said, jerking his head to the door. "Do what you gotta do."

She nodded at him gratefully. Nobody else said a word until the door had swung shut behind her.

Nomad paused outside the door for a moment, trying to decide which was the most likely place on the ship where she'd be left alone. She didn't mean to eavesdrop…but once she realised the guys were talking about her, she didn't exactly stop listening.

"…didn't even ask how Lowlight was," Lifeline said.

"What would you've said if she had? 'Sorry, Nomad, but he's just as bad as he was yesterday'?" Beach retorted.

"Well…I wouldn't have put it quite so bluntly," the medic said indignantly.

"Look, she knows you'll tell her soon as somethin' changes. Don't change the fact that either way, she's gotta deal with it."

"You know as well as I do that she's not going to 'deal with it'," Lifeline pointed out. "You know what she said to me yesterday?"

"No, an' it ain't my business, but you're gonna tell me, ain't you?"

"I can, it's not a medical matter. She said 'Everyone I care about dies'. She just assumed Lowlight was dead when I went to tell her he'd made it."

There was a pause. "She reckons it's her fault," Outback said.

No answer. Nomad figured Lifeline had nodded.

"Well, she _shoulda _jumped in the chopper…" Beach said. "But she couldn'ta known Lowlight'd jump out."

"It doesn't matter what she _should_ have done, that can't be helped now," Lifeline said. "My point is, I don't have to be Psyche Out to know what this is gonna do to her."

Nomad pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling like she was going to be sick. She couldn't listen to any more.

* * *

She'd jogged fifty three laps of the Flagg's upper deck before it was time for the Tomahawk to take off. Wild Bill asked if she wanted to sit up front again with him. She shook her head, preferring to take a seat right at the back. On her own.

Outback took the offer after helping Recondo - who was still a little high on morphine - hop to his seat. Beach sat beside the jungle trooper, a medical kit between his feet, just in case. Lifeline was staying on the aircraft carrier so he and Stretcher could take shifts watching Lowlight. He was still too critical to be moved - when he got better, then he'd be transferred back to the Pit.

_If_ he got better, Nomad corrected herself. She shouldn't get her hopes up.

She hadn't been to see him before they left. Maybe she should have.

She buckled up. The blood all been cleaned up off the floor of the chopper, but she couldn't help thinking about how it had looked - all sticky and dark, covering the floor and the three men working to save the sniper's life.

And what had she done? Nothing.

"All set, Nomad?" Bill called back to her.

"Yeah," she answered flatly.

"Hey, I have it on good authority that Roadblock's gettin' his chef on tonight. How 'bout I radio the Pit and tell him to start makin' lasagne? You like Roadblock's lasagne, right?"

"Whatever." The thought of Roadblock's made-from-scratch lasagne would've made her mouth water any other time; it was her favourite. Today, though, the thought of it made her stomach churn. What was with them trying to get her to eat, anyway?

"Uh…right."

Wild Bill didn't say anything else to her specifically after that. It made her incredibly sad to think it - she'd liked Wild Bill a lot - but she hoped her short answers had put him off for good. For his own sake.

Nomad sighed. It was going to be harder than it was last time. Last time, all her friends had died. This time, she had to cut her friends off. Covergirl, Clutch, Rock 'n' Roll, Sci-Fi, Tripwire…it was going to hurt a lot more. She'd have to -

Beachhead sat down beside her. "Listen up."

Nomad steeled herself and turned to him, face blank. "Yes, sergeant major?"

"Enougha that crap," he said sharply. "Only time you ever call me that's when you're bein' a smartass, an' that's - well, no, it _ain't_ how Ah like it, but it's what Ah'm used to."

She opened her mouth to say something - she wasn't quite sure what - but he interrupted her. "Shut up an' let me talk at you, scrawny, an' make sure you listen up good. Now Ah ain't gonna sit back an' watch you feelin' sorry for yourself. Yeah, you shoulda done as you were told an' gone straight for the chopper."

…As if she didn't know that…

"But Lowlight knew what he was doin', an' you weren't responsible for his actions." Beachhead paused, ran a hand through his already messy hair, and then added gruffly, "So suck it up. You hear?"

Nomad stared at the Ranger, trying to work out if he was reprimanding her or trying to be nice.

"You wanna hug, or somethin'? Forget it."

She chuckled, taking herself - and Beachhead too, from the look on his face - by surprise. "Lifeline put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Lifeline ain't the only guy 'round here who don't like to see his pals upset," Beach said indignantly. "What, you think Ah ain't got a heart?"

She couldn't help herself; it was just _too_ easy. "Well, I guess there'd have to be one in there _somewhere_…"

Beachhead growled and rolled his eyes. "That's it. Last time Ah ever try to be nice to you."

"Beach, I appreciate, really. It's just -"

"Yeah, Ah get it. Look, you needa talk…Covergirl'll listen."

Just like Beachhead to volunteer his girlfriend for the difficult emotional stuff. Nomad caught herself starting to smile. The big man noticed and nodded, looking quite pleased with himself, and returned to his seat beside Recondo. "An' you eat somethin' when we get home, Ah don't want you faintin' from hunger halfway through PT."

"Yes, sergeant major." She hadn't meant it to be, but this time her tone was slightly sarcastic - perfect for getting on the Ranger's nerves. He cast a quick glance at her, then waved a hand dismissively and grunted.

Dammit, she was supposed to be distancing herself. If she couldn't shut _Beachhead_ out, how was she going to shut the others out?

* * *

There was quite a large gathering awaiting them back at the Pit. As soon as Outback rolled the Jeep they'd driven from McGuire AFB off the hydraulic lift and parked it, Nomad jumped out and grabbed her rifle and rucksack from the back. She kept her head down, trying not to draw attention to herself as she made a beeline for the elevators.

Of course, to get by unnoticed would have been too easy.

"Nomad."

She stopped mid-stride and turned, peering guardedly up at Psyche Out.

"My office. Now."

He was using his shrink voice. Dammit.

"I just got back, Psyche. Can't it -"

"No. It's an order, Nomad, you can't get out of it."

She sighed. "Let me go put my stuff -"

"Covergirl will take it." Psyche Out waved the other woman over.

Covergirl gave Nomad a worried look. "We all heard. Are you okay?"

Nomad went to lie and say she was fine, but Psyche Out interrupted. "You can talk later. Nomad, come on."

In all the sessions she'd had with him, she'd never heard the psychologist sound so stern. She shrugged her pack off and handed it and the gun wordlessly to Covergirl, then followed the shrink into the elevator.

Psyche Out reached past her and pushed the button, remaining silent all the way down until they were both seated in his office. He waited until Nomad looked him in the eyes before speaking again. His voice was a little softer now. "I got a pretty worrying call from Lifeline this morning."

Great. She said nothing, picking at a worn spot on the all-too-familiar armchair.

"You want to tell me what you meant when you said that everyone you care about dies?"

She gave a bitter laugh. "What's there to tell?" she asked. "It's true. I'm surprised Lowlight's lasted as long as he has."

Psyche Out fixed her with a piercing stare. "We've talked about this. Your team -"

"My team's dead," she said sharply. "There's nothing I can do about it except try and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"And how are you going to do that?" Psyche Out pressed.

"I don't know." He'd make a big deal if she told him. "Psyche Out, I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday. I'm kinda hungry. Can't this wait?"

He wasn't going to be put off. "Don't change the subject." He paused. "How'd you feel when Lowlight jumped out of the chopper?"

The question caused a lump to form in her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to get rid of it, but her voice still cracked. "I…I told -"

Psyche Out took pity on her, giving her an encouraging smile. "In your own time."

Nomad cleared her throat. "I told him to go back," she said.

"That's not what I asked," the shrink pointed out gently. "I asked how you felt."

"I don't understand. What's that got to do with -"

"Nomad, you've just been caught in a situation very similar to the one you went through in the Amazon. You need to talk to me about it, or else -"

She stood up, waving her arms in annoyance. "Or else what? I'm gonna screw myself up even more?"

Psyche Out crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair calmly. "Do you think that's what's going to happen?"

"I…Psyche Out…"

"You've made so much progress since you've been here, Nomad. Don't let this undo it all. Talk to me. How'd you feel when Lowlight jumped out?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know."

He shook his head. "You should know by now that I'm not going to accept that as an answer. How did you feel?"

"I…" She knew she wasn't going to get anywhere until she answered. "…Scared." Nomad rubbed a hand over her face. "I was scared, alright?" Surprisingly, she felt a little better once she'd said it. "Because…it _was_ the same. My team…and now because I fucked up again, Lowlight might die."

Psyche Out stood, took two steps over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, much as Lifeline had back on the Flagg. "Nomad. What I'm about to say is important, so I want you to listen to me."

She tried to shrug his hands off, but when she couldn't she nodded reluctantly.

"This is _not_ your fault. Usually I wouldn't say that outright; I'd let you figure it out for yourself, but I know you're not going to let it go. You did _not_ get Lowlight shot. You didn't make him jump out of that helicopter, and the only one who blames you is you. I know I can't make you think otherwise, but at least you know nobody thinks it's your fault."

Nomad looked away. "If I hadn't got so close to him -"

"You know Lowlight. He would've jumped out anyway."

That was a good point…but it didn't change anything. She'd made up her mind. It was safer for the Joes her way. "Are we done here?"

Psyche Out sighed and nodded. "For now."

She let herself out of the office. As she walked by, Doc stuck his head out of his own office. "Hey, Nomad."

She glanced at him warily. "Doc."

"Got a call from Lifeline. Said you might need these." He held up a small bottle and shook it. The pills inside rattled.

"Lifeline's been busy," she muttered. "First Psyche Out, then you."

"It was the same phone call, actually. He was worried about you," Doc stated, tossing her the bottle of sleeping pills. "You be careful with those."

Nomad's temper flared immediately. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Doc sized her up. "It _means_ don't take too many," he said bluntly.

"What, you think I'm that pathetic that I have to overdose on sleeping pills? Thanks, Doc, that makes me feel a whole lot better."

The doctor straightened up and looked at her warningly. "Don't take that tone with me."

She immediately felt bad. "Doc, I'm sorry -"

"You can expect a few extra shots next check up," he said firmly. "And don't be surprised if it takes a few attempts to find a vein at your next blood test."

He couldn't do that. Could he?

Doc noticed the look on her face and grinned. "No, I can't do that," he admitted. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. I know you wouldn't overdose intentionally, but sometimes accidents happen when people are upset. I just want you to be careful, that's all."

She went to clap him on the shoulder, then stopped herself, remembering that she was supposed to be keeping her distance. "I will, Doc. Thanks. I'll see you later."

"I'll let you know if Lifeline calls with any updates."

She nodded, thanked him again, and left the infirmary.

* * *

It was like her first day in the Pit all over again - wherever she went, she could feel people looking at her. She avoided meeting anyone's gaze as she headed for her room - luckily, nobody seemed too intent on waylaying her.

Covergirl looked up as Nomad walked in. "Nomad, are you okay?"

"I'm -"

"No, of course you're not," the former model interrupted. "Wayne told me what happened."

Nomad stuffed the bottle of pills into the top drawer of her bedside table and sank down onto her mattress, looking at Covergirl and waiting for her to continue, which she undoubtedly would.

"He's okay, though, right? Beach said he saw Lowlight just before you guys left, and he's okay."

"I don't know," Nomad admitted with a shrug. "I didn't ask."

Covergirl frowned. "What? Why not?"

"I didn't want to." Nomad gave a twisted little grin. "Knowing my luck, I would've accidentally pulled out one of the IV tubes and killed him. It'd be something that'd happen to me."

"You don't really -" Covergirl started, looking horrified.

Nomad shook her head. "No. I'm not quite that bad," she admitted, then sighed and glanced at her watch. "I'm gonna go do some training."

Covergirl stood up. "I'll go with you."

Nomad held up a hand. "Actually, I'd rather you didn't," she said.

"Too bad. You shouldn't be alone right now," the model insisted.

"Covergirl -"

"Nope, you're not getting rid of me that easy. Let me get changed, I'll just be a minute."

There was no arguing with Covergirl. She was already pulling out a pair of shorts and a singlet…and Nomad found that she didn't really want to try and discourage the woman. The company - and the friendly competition in the training room - might be kind of nice.

Maybe she could put off the distancing for another day…

Yeah. She'd start tomorrow.

"Okay, let's go." Covergirl grabbed Nomad's arm and marched her out of the room.

* * *

"You ate a _spider_?"

"Outback practically dared me to! I couldn't let him think I couldn't do it; I'd never hear the end of it."

"But…a _spider_?"

Nomad laughed at the disgusted look on Covergirl's face. It took a lot to put the other woman off - Nomad had just discovered one thing that did.

"So…what'd it taste like?"

"Gross," Nomad admitted. "It was all…gooey inside." She shuddered. "Never again. Next time Outback says I can't do something, I won't bother trying to prove him wrong."

"Sure you will, or you'd never live it down."

"True." Nomad grinned and kicked her legs, flicking water across the pool.

Covergirl floated lazily on her back. "At least it was cooked. Dusty makes people eat lizards."

"I've eaten lizards before."

Covergirl smirked. "Raw?"

Nomad pulled a face. "Remind me never to get stuck with Dusty on a mission."

They hadn't trained for very long - half an hour at the most, and then Covergirl had decided she wanted to go for a swim. Nomad, who didn't even own a swimsuit - she'd refused to buy one when Covergirl, Lady Jaye and Scarlett had taken her shopping - was sitting with her legs in the water.

The door opened, and before she had time to turn to see who was coming in, two hands planted firmly on her back and pushed her in.

She came up spluttering, snorting water out of her nose. "Hey!"

Lady Jaye grinned down at her. "Oops. Sorry, I slipped."

Nomad rolled her eyes as she treaded water, glaring at Jaye and Scarlett as they dropped their towels. "Sure you did. Bitch."

"Sticks and stones, Nomad, sticks and stones." The woman jumped into the pool, splashing water everywhere.

"You should know better than to have your back to the door in the pool room," Scarlett pointed out, sitting on the edge and sliding gracefully into the water. "It's just _askin'_ for trouble."

"Okay, you have a point there." Nomad splashed the redhead, who submerged to avoid it.

"You girls aren't having a pool party without us, are you?"

Covergirl groaned and glanced up at Clutch as he, Rock 'n' Roll and Steeler watched on, taking in the bikinis and Nomad's clinging white tank top with apparent glee. "Perverts."

Rock 'n' Roll held his arms wide. "No, we're not. We just thought we'd make sure you were all safe. You shouldn't swim without lifeguards around, you know."

"Uh huh. You gonna ask if we ate less than an hour ago, too?"

Clutch gave a shrug. "Well, you didn't think we'd pass up the chance to see you all in your bikinis, did you?"

"Clutch, we need to find you a girlfriend."

Without missing a beat, he pointed to Nomad.

"She's spoken for," Scarlett said firmly.

Nomad glanced at the redhead, not voicing the thought that had crossed her mind at least a hundred times since seeing Lowlight in that hospital bed last night.

"No…it'd have to be some poor, unsuspecting greenshirt," Covergirl mused. "Somebody who doesn't know him."

"Someone who doesn't roll her eyes as soon as his name's mentioned?" Lady Jaye wondered.

"Ideally, they'd be blind and deaf as well."

Nomad chuckled, drawing Clutch's attention. "Uh…you know you're s'posed to wear a swimsuit, right?" he asked loudly, changing the subject not-so-subtly. "Not that I'm complainin'."

"I wasn't planning on taking a dip," she answered, jerking her thumb at Lady Jaye. She paddled to the side and held up a hand. "Help me out."

He shook his head and backed away. "Ah, no. I ain't stupid, Nomad."

Covergirl sniggered. Clutch made a point of ignoring her.

"Come _on_, you know how heavy BDUs are when they're wet," Nomad insisted, opening and closing her fingers impatiently.

"You're not gonna pull me in?"

She shook her head. "Unlike _some_ people," she said, casting a look at Lady Jaye, and winking when she knew Clutch couldn't see her face, "I'm trustworthy."

"_I'm_ trustworthy," Jaye protested, playing along. "It was just too good a chance to miss."

With a sigh, Clutch stepped forward and held his hand out. Nomad grabbed it and half lifted herself out of the pool - then let herself fall back in, dragging Clutch with her. A huge wave of water swept over the side of the pool as the mechanic went in headfirst.

"Sucker," Nomad said when they surfaced. Rock 'n' Roll tried to hold back his giggles. Steeler was laughing more at Rock 'n' Roll than at Clutch - and as the soaked grease monkey glared at them, both burst out laughing even harder. Both men had moved well out of splashing or grabbing range.

Clutch shook his head, flinging water everywhere, and ran a hand through his hair. "Nomad! You said -"

"I lied," she interrupted, chuckling. "Guess I'm not all that trustworthy after all, huh?"

"I'll never believe -"

"Nomad."

They all turned to see Flint standing at the door, looking at her gravely. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Hawk wants you in his office. Now."

Everyone went silent, their eyes on her. She swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted herself out. "Uh…sure. I'm on my way." She paused. "Um…_right_ now?"

Flint rolled his eyes. "Go get changed. Make it snappy. And…good luck. He looked serious."

Everything came flooding back. For a little while, at least, she'd been able to push it all to the back of her mind - Covergirl had kept her talking about other things, and then Jaye and Scarlett and the guys had distracted her even more. She realised she'd actually been having fun.

Maybe pushing her friends away wasn't the best idea. Was that what Psyche Out had been trying to make her see? That the others could help her through?

But that wasn't fair. She was still a danger to them. The more they cared about her, the greater the risk. No…tomorrow, she'd start pushing them away. It was best for them all.

…Although there _was_ one way she could keep her friends and not cause them any harm…

"I'll see you guys later," she said quietly, not looking any of them in the eye.

She felt them watching her until the pool room door swung shut. Just before she walked away, she heard Flint's voice again. "Clutch, get out of the pool before you turn it oily!"

* * *

Nomad nervously knocked on the door to Hawk's office.

"Come in."

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "You wanted to see me, General?"

Hawk was sitting behind his desk. He wore his BDUs and the familiar brown jacket, but the .45 in the shoulder holster was acting as a paperweight, holding a stack of documents in place. There were marks worn into the jacket where the holster would usually sit - that jacket had seen a lot of action, probably more than Nomad would _ever_ see. He stood up and motioned for her to stand in front of his desk. She crossed the room and stood rigidly, trying not to fidget.

Hawk didn't tell her to stand at ease. Oh, she was in trouble.

"I trust I don't have to tell you what this is about?" His voice was quiet and even. She almost would have preferred it if he'd sounded angry.

Her heart felt like it was sinking all the way down to her boots, but she kept her face emotionless. "No, sir, I know what this is about."

"Good. Then I can get straight to the point." He fixed his piercing blue gaze on her.

"Yes, sir." She braced herself.

"Is there a reason you disobeyed Lifeline's order?"

She wanted to provide cover for Outback and Recondo. She wanted to take out as many Cobras as she could. She didn't think she could make it to the chopper at that point.

Any of those reasons would have been a lie. The _truth_ was, she just hadn't been thinking anything at the time. The Cobras were shooting at her, she'd shot back. Simple as that.

"Well?" Hawk prompted. He didn't sound impatient. He didn't need to.

"No, sir, I have no reason. I heard the order clearly and I chose to ignore it. I take full responsibility for…for what happened."

Hawk leaned back against the desk, giving her an inscrutable look. "This is the second time you've had a problem with orders."

There was no point denying it; of course he knew she'd questioned Stalker's order to partner her with Lifeline in Guatemala. She suspected the only reason she'd been allowed to continue on that mission was because there were so few Joes available at the time. "Yes, sir."

"Not only that, but I have reports from both Lifeline _and_ Psyche Out that you're having trouble dealing with Lowlight being wounded."

"Sir, I -"

"I told you when you signed up that you leave your baggage at the door. I was willing to give you time to work on that. To your credit, you did improve. But what I've heard in the last few hours isn't good."

"General -"

He held up a hand. She shut her mouth and lowered her eyes. "Sorry, sir."

"Don't interrupt me again, Nomad."

She shook her head. He pushed off the desk and stood right in front of her. Her eyes were level with his shoulders. She fought the urge to step backwards. "I don't have time for soldiers who disobey orders," he said. "The Joes are a team. If you can't obey orders, you have no place here. Do I make myself clear?"

She wouldn't let herself slump. Not in front of Hawk. "Yes, sir," she said, lifting her chin and meeting his eyes.

"Good. You're suspended from active duty until further notice, effective immediately. I'll have somebody let you know when you can resume your duties. Dismissed."

He strode around the desk and sat down, moving the .45 aside and pulling the pile of paperwork toward him.

Nomad frowned. That was it? That _couldn't_ be it. "Uh…suspended, sir?"

Hawk nodded and answered without looking up. "That's what I said."

Nomad paused. Should she press it?

Yes. She would. Hawk mustn't have heard the whole story properly. "Sir…I almost got Lowlight killed. You should be kicking me out."

The general sighed and sat back in his chair. "Lowlight acted of his own volition, and his behaviour isn't in question: yours is. What happened was an accident, nothing more." He paused. "And - as both Outback and Recondo pointed out, repeatedly - you ensured that they both made it to the chopper. The punishment is sufficient."

"Sir -"

"You've been dismissed, Nomad. But you've run out of chances. One more mistake and I'll have no choice but to discharge you."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Hawk gave her a pointed look. "Don't make any more mistakes."

She wouldn't - she'd make sure of it, one way or another.

* * *

Roadblock took one look at Nomad and plopped a huge serving of lasagne on her plate. "You look like you need some comfort food," the heavy gunner declared.

"Thanks, Roadblock." She'd never eat the whole -

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Maybe she _would _eat it all…

She headed for the table at the far end of the mess hall, where Deep Six was hunched over his plate, but before she got more than a few steps, Covergirl and Lady Jaye ambushed her.

"Where have you _been_?" the model demanded. "We were waiting for you to come back and tell us what happened in Hawk's office!"

Nomad shrugged. "I needed some time to think."

It wasn't exactly a lie. She'd spent most of the afternoon wandering the grounds of Fort Wadsworth, wondering how long 'until further notice' meant. Hawk had made himself clear - he wasn't impressed with her. But he was fair, and he'd made it clear that he didn't want to have to kick her out. She made a mental note to thank Outback and Recondo for putting good words in for her.

There was also something else she'd been thinking about…but she needed more time on that one.

Covergirl and Lady Jaye grabbed an arm each and frogmarched Nomad to the table they'd been sitting at - most of her closest friends were there. Clearly, they'd all heard about her meeting with the general.

Typical.

The two women sat her down between them. She didn't look at anyone, but tucked into her dinner instead. The lasagne was delicious. She realised how ravenous she actually was: she'd eat the whole plate easily, maybe even go back for more.

She was allowed a whole two mouthfuls before Clutch cleared his throat impatiently. "So?"

Nomad swallowed and glanced up at him. "So what?" she asked. She knew perfectly well what he wanted to know - but she was going to pretend that it wasn't a big deal.

"_So_, what'd Hawk say?"

"Oh. Right."

Covergirl dug an elbow into her ribs and gave her a pointed look. Nomad knew she'd cop it later for trying to downplay it. The model knew her too well.

"I'm suspended from duty." It felt like something tightened around her heart as she said it, then loosened. It could have been much, much worse.

"For how long?" Tripwire asked, leaning forward and almost knocking his glass over with his elbow.

"Until further notice. Skoog, you're gonna -"

_Crash_.

"Oops."

She rolled her eyes as Tripwire disappeared under the table to pick up his broken plate. "Never mind. Look, it could've been worse. It _should_ have been worse." The last sentence sounded a little more bitter than she'd intended.

"If Hawk thought you deserved to be kicked out, you'd be packed and out of here already," Lady Jaye said. "Look, what happened -"

"'Wasn't my fault'. So I've heard," Nomad finished glumly. "Doesn't change the fact that it happened." Suddenly, the lasagne didn't seem like a good idea. She pushed her plate over to Rock 'n' Roll. "You can have it."

"Sure?"

"Uh huh. Just…don't talk while you're eating."

He gave her a thumbs up and grinned, his mouth already full. "Awesome."

"You're gross.."

Flint leaned past Lady Jaye. "Hey, if Hawk -"

"I'm done talking about it. Sorry, Flint, but…" She stood up. "I'm going for a walk."

Covergirl started to push her chair back.

"On my own," Nomad said, her tone making it clear she was serious. "Don't worry, I'll try not to do anything stupid."

"But Nomad…"

She shook her head. Lady Jaye stopped Covergirl following.

Roadblock raised his oven-mitted hands as she strode past his bench. "Hey, where you goin'? I got apple pie just comin' outta the oven!" He glanced over to the table. "You didn't even eat your lasagne!"

"Sorry, Roadblock, but I'm not hungry."

"C'mon. I made it 'specially for you."

She gave him a small smile. He always said that when somebody told him they weren't hungry - Roadblock didn't like anybody to go without. "Sorry," she said again.

"I'll save you some for later, huh?"

She nodded, taken aback by the number of Joes who seemed to be worried about her. First Beachhead - who she wasn't particularly close to in the first place - then Covergirl and the others, now Roadblock. Hell, even Short Fuse had been relatively civil to her when she'd bumped into him coming out of the training room before.

Well, he'd given her a curt nod. Nomad supposed that could be called civil, especially since any other time would've seen them hurling insults at each other.

She made her way out to Beach's obstacle course. The last stragglers were just heading in for dinner, covered in mud and cursing at the Ranger under their breath. They brightened as Nomad gave them the promise of Roadblock's cooking and quickened their steps.

Beachhead cast a suspicious look at her as she wandered by. "What're you doin' out here?"

"Just walking."

"Well turn your scrawny butt around an' walk back inside," he growled. "You eaten?"

"Yes, mother." It wasn't exactly a lie - she _had_ eaten. Just not very much.

"Ah _will_ make you run laps, you keep bein' smart like that."

"Beach, I just want to sit by myself for a bit. That's all. I'll go around to the firing range if you don't want me on the course -"

"The hell you will, you'll get shot in the ass again." He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the start of the course. "Ah just put in a new A-frame. Go sit on that. An' don't go runnin' the course on your own, Ah don't need the paperwork that'll come when you fall an' break your neck."

Even Beach was looking out for her, in his own gruff way. "I'll be in later."

"Don't make it _too_ late. Courtney gets grumpy when she don't get enough sleep."

"And when Courtney gets grumpy, you don't get none, right?" she asked, mimicking his accent.

"You little wiseass."

Holding back a laugh, Nomad waved him away. He pointed a finger warningly at her, then strode toward the floodlit garages, pulling off his balaclava as he went and scruffing up his already messy hair.

Nomad sighed and picked her way to the A-frame, climbed halfway up and perched there. She had a whole lot more thinking to do.

* * *

"Dynamite, you don't have to go."

"Yes, I do. They finally got the fucker, I'm gonna be there when they bring him in."

Archer gave her a measured stare. "Will it help, though? No offence, but you're pretty damaged, kiddo."

"Oh, sure. No offence," Dynamite said wryly. She leaned back on the table rather than on her walking frame. She hated that thing - she only had it close by because Archer was here, and he would've told her off when he saw it gathering dust in the corner of her small room. She usually hobbled around the room using the furniture for support. "Look…after the trial, it's all over. He won't be out there anymore. I need this, Archer. I'm just asking for a lift, that's all."

It had been five months since the Amazon. For two months of that, Dynamite had been confined to her hospital room. Once she'd been discharged, she'd moved into the room that Archer had secured for her. The next two months had been occupied by physiotherapy - and the other kind of therapy.

She hated them both - she _knew_ how to walk, dammit, she didn't need to be treated like a freakin' toddler. What pissed her off most was that her legs didn't seem to want to cooperate, even though they hadn't been injured - it was all that time in the hospital bed and the wheelchair that had diminished her muscles. She was the patient from hell: she got angry with herself when she couldn't manage to support her own weight, and then she got snappy with the nurses, or Archer, or whoever else happened to be in the room at the time. The nurses took it in their stride - they were used to it. Not that that was a good excuse, Dynamite knew she shouldn't take it out on them. Archer, on the other hand, arced up right back at her and put her in her place.

She found she did better when he was around to spur her on. It probably helped that he _made_ her want to hit him, then he went and stood at the far end of the room, shouting at her to go to him and do it.

The nurses didn't approve of that tactic - but they had to admit, it was working.

Dynamite had been offered convalescence leave for this month - now that she was mostly recovered and mobile. She'd refused: why should she go to Hawaii or somewhere and think about Goldilocks when she could just stay on base and think about him?

She kept to herself around the base - the only people she really talked to were Archer and, occasionally, Jumpstart. Every now and then, somebody would try and strike up a conversation in the mess hall, but things quickly turned awkward, and they moved away fairly quickly. Dynamite didn't care; she wasn't on base to make friends. She didn't need them. She was just there until Goldilocks was found and brought back in handcuffs and a bright orange jumpsuit.

And that was where she _could_ be useful. Archer brought her maps and satellite photos of the Amazon - the area she'd been stuck in. She studied them, marking potential hiding places, trouble spots, places that would offer tactical advantages. She marked the three hidden caches on the maps as well, even though one had already been secured, and the other two raided either by insurgents or Goldilocks himself.

Insurgents. Goldilocks. Not really much difference, there.

Dynamite also became some sort of…reference point. She didn't mind that so much; soldiers who were about to be sent on missions in the Amazon often had questions, and she was willing to help. Even the smallest piece of information might be helpful if they found themselves in a situation like hers. The questions were mostly about finding food, poisonous plants or the animals…one had asked if she'd been bitten by piranhas. He'd come back later to ask if she'd seen a giant man-eating Anaconda. That guy - his name was Mouth - had made her laugh, and he'd walked away looking extremely proud of himself.

She hadn't seen him again.

"Alright. You can ride with me. I have to go to keep an eye on proceedings," Archer grudgingly agreed. "But you don't _say_ anything, you don't _do_ anything…actually, I'd rather you didn't get out of the car."

"Fuck that. I'm gonna be standing there when he gets off that plane. I want to see his face when he sees I'm not dead."

"'Mite, you're on the verge of creeping me out. You know that, right?"

"You get creeped out?"

"Sure." Archer shrugged. "I don't know how you watch those scary movies on your own without the lights on."

She raised an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

"Well…no, I'm not." Archer shot her a grin, then it went away as quickly as it had appeared. "But now I am. 'Mite…you can't keep thinking like that. It'll eat away at you; I've seen it before."

"I'm fine, Archer," Dynamite insisted.

"Well…if you say so," the big man answered doubtfully. "The plane's due in at 2045 tonight. I'll be leaving at 1930. If you aren't ready by then, I'm going without you."

"I'll be ready."

The rest of the day couldn't pass quickly enough, but finally, it was time to go. Dynamite eased herself into the passenger seat of the black car Archer was driving to the airport. An armoured truck followed - the truck that would transport Goldilocks to the maximum security facility he'd be staying at until his trial the following week.

"You sure you're up for this?" Archer asked, glancing at her.

She nodded, but didn't trust herself to say anything.

They drove most of the way in silence, and arrived at the airport well before the plane, leaving enough time to secure the runways and get the cars into position. Archer insisted she stay in the car as long as possible, and wouldn't stand for her arguing. She settled for sitting in the car with the door open.

Eventually, the call came through on the radio. The plane was making its descent and would be landing shortly. Dynamite stood up and leaned on the car, pushing Archer's supportive hands away, earning herself a warning glare from the big man.

The MPs opened the doors of the armoured truck as the plane taxied to a stop. Dynamite realised she was holding her breath. This was it. The man who'd killed her team was about to come down those stairs - she'd see him for the first time since he'd stabbed her in the guts.

Her hand went to the small of her back, to the grip of the small handgun she'd tucked into the waistband of her fatigues. Her camouflage shirt had hidden the gun well. She'd been searched before heading for the car, of course - but nobody had bothered to check her again after she'd been to the bathroom.

She felt guilty - not only was it extremely illegal for her to be carrying the weapon, but she was abusing Archer's trust.

The plane door opened. Two armed soldiers emerged first, stopping at the bottom of the boarding stairs. And then…there he was, flanked by two more troops. His hands and feet were cuffed. He shuffled down the stairs, his cocky stride hampered by the chains. He was a little thinner than last time she saw him, and he'd grown a beard…but it was him.

He was right there. If she pulled the gun now, she had a clear shot. She could blow his brains all over the asphalt.

Goldilocks' eyes darted over the assembled soldiers. She gave a satisfied grin when he spotted her. His eyes flicked over her at first, and then he balked and focused on her.

"That's right, you fucking bastard," she said. "I'm still here."

She saw his mouth move. "How?"

"Not another word," Archer growled. "You say anything, it could be used in court. We don't need that."

The shot was still open. She could take it. She could finish it right there. It would be so much more satisfying than watching through a window as the injection was given. Her hand tightened around the gun -

No. She couldn't do it. It went against everything she'd lived for - everything her team had died for. As much as she hated the idea, he should have a trial. And then he could sit in a cell, knowing he was a dead man. With her testimony - and the proof carved into her stomach - he didn't stand a chance.

The MPs ushered Goldilocks quickly into the armoured truck, and then it drove off, with a full escort of army vehicles.

"I hope that was worth it," Archer said, as he opened her door for her.

"He's gonna get what he deserves. Pity we don't still have a firing squad. I would've like to have been on it."

"Dyna -"

"Sorry, Archer." Dynamite sighed. "Let's go. My gut's starting to hurt."

Archer got in the driver's seat and gave her a piercing look. "I'm glad you didn't do anything stupid, kiddo."

She froze for a moment. Had he noticed? Did he know about the gun?

No. He couldn't. Archer was…well, he was a friend, the only one she had left. But friend or not, he wouldn't have stood for that. He would've kicked her ass personally, then locked her away. "Anything stupid, like what?" she asked innocently.

He shrugged. "Dunno. Something you might've regretted."

She felt the gun burning into her back and shifted guiltily. "There're enough things I regret. I don't need to add to the list."

"Right."

They didn't talk at all on the drive back. Dynamite stared out the window. The gun was still pressing into her.

How could she have even _thought_ about…that? Was she really that damaged, that she'd risk everything on a guy who wasn't worth shit? Had Goldilocks done that to her?

No. She'd done that to herself. Nobody had made her do it; it had been her own choice. A _stupid_ choice. And if that was how she was going to think now, she was a danger both to herself and to everyone around her. Now, she had another choice to make. This time, it was going to be the right one. "Hey, Archer?"

"Uh huh?"

"When we get back, I'm going to need to fill out some forms."

"What forms?"

Dynamite looked straight ahead, out the windscreen. "I've just decided. I'm resigning."

* * *

"Nomad?"

She squinted as the flashlight fell on her. "Yeah, Dusty?"

The desert trooped climbed up the A-frame to talk to her face-to-face. "It's gettin' late. You should come inside."

Nomad glanced at her watch, and was shocked to find that she'd been sitting out there for the better part of two hours. "I didn't realise it was that time already." She shifted and almost fell off the obstacle, grabbing Dusty's shoulders to steady herself. "Ow. No wonder my ass's gone numb."

Dusty chuckled and held his hand out to help her down. She took it automatically, then wished she'd brushed him aside. Oh well. Too late now. "Thanks."

"Now, if I was Clutch I'd be offerin' to rub some feelin' back into your butt."

She grinned. "But you're not Clutch, so I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."

"Fair enough." With the flashlight beam aimed at the ground, Dusty led the way back to the garages. "So, what're you gonna do while you're suspended?"

Nomad shrugged. "Well…the kitchen's short on hands, with Jeckle gone."

"That's right, she left on convalescence this mornin'. I was wonderin' why the mess hall was so quiet."

She chuckled. She'd missed Jeckle's incessant chatter, too. She'd noticed Shipwreck had been looking a little lonely…

…And that was exactly what she had to stop caring about. "Look, Dusty, I appreciate what you guys are doing -"

"We're not doin' anythin'," he answered quickly, a look of alarm crossing his honest face.

Something was up. Nomad frowned and crossed her arms. "Dusty…"

"Well…Psyche Out told us that you might…you know…"

Damn that shrink! "So what, I'm under surveillance? Or are you guys just doing an intervention?"

"Uh…" Dusty rubbed his neck.

She couldn't stay angry with him - even though she wanted to. She was actually touched that they cared so much.

The thought scared her a little, too.

"I won't say anything," she assured him with a slight smile. "I'll see you tomorrow. At breakfast. I'll be the one in the apron."


	22. Chapter Twenty One

Not much to say about this one. It's getting there, eventually. Next chapter might see some more action, if it turns out the way I want it to :D

...Nope, I can't think of much else to say. Oh, except that I hope it doesn't get too sappy toward the end there.

And once again, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Nomad had thought - scratch that, she'd _known -_ it was going to be hard trying to distance herself from the Joes.

She hadn't thought it would be damn near _impossible_.

Then again…they _were_ Joes. She guessed she should've realised that her buddies weren't going to make it easy for her.

Nomad tried. She really did. For the first week, at least. Unless she was in the kitchen, she avoided the mess hall as much as possible. She watched crappy movies every night until late - or technically, early - in the rec room, when nobody was around. When she wasn't watching movies, she trained until she was almost dead on her feet. When she had to speak to somebody, she tried to keep it short and blunt, almost to the point of rudeness.

But Dusty had been right. Psyche Out had said _something_ to the guys. After the first few days, the Joes wised up to Nomad's tricks. Very soon, she had company when she watched her crappy horror movies. Usually it was Sci-Fi who joined her, popcorn bowl in hand - he even started bringing in some of his own movies (most of which were just as crappy as hers). There was a sudden increase in people training later at night. And somebody _always_ wanted to eat lunch with her, either in the mess hall or the PX Snack Bar. Nomad preferred the Snack Bar; the chaplain's assistants didn't know what she'd done.

In any case, the Joes obviously weren't about to let her slip back into her old habits. And, as much as Nomad hated to admit it…she couldn't do it. She'd gotten used to belonging to a team again. Her attempts to distance herself grew less and less sincere each day. She still gave it a half-hearted shot now and then, but by now, after three weeks, even _she_ knew it wasn't going to happen.

But the guilt still ate at her. It didn't matter how much they tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, she knew it was.

Nomad knew the Joes were just worried about her - but they were crowding. That, combined with the fact that she wasn't allowed to have anything to do with missions, was starting to get to her. She was feeling restless - her feet were getting itchy. Hell, she would've even liked to have spent her days sitting at the computers with Breaker, Mainframe and Dial Tone than in the kitchen - even though Dial Tone got on her nerves a little bit.

But that would've technically been duty. And she was suspended. Hawk still hadn't said anything about her return to duty. Well, at least while she was suspended, she couldn't endanger anyone.

Though several people _had_ complained about her cooking being the death of them…Roadblock refused to let her anywhere near the ovens. Nomad wasn't a very good cook. Breakfast and dessert were about the only meals she could serve without screwing up - and even then sometimes her pancakes got used as Frisbees for Junkyard and Order. The rest of the time, she was relegated to the back of the kitchen, washing dishes.

She'd never realised just how many dishes the Pit went through in a day - and that was without counting the ones Tripwire broke. She had a newfound respect for the permanent kitchen staff.

Roadblock had just released her from food prep for the night. Nomad had already been to her room and told Covergirl she was going to train for a little while, but she was tired. She was always tired, lately. She wasn't sleeping well; even with the pills Doc had given her, she still had nightmares. The ones about the Amazon had come back. Sometimes Lowlight died in the Amazon rather than just being wounded in the Sierra Gordo rainforest.

Most of the time, she could push thoughts of Lowlight to the back of her mind, but once she had nobody to talk to, nothing to keep her busy, the guilt crept back. The nights were the worst.

Nomad knew what she had to do. She'd thought about it over the last three weeks and made up her mind, but she couldn't do it until Lowlight was back. He deserved that much, after everything that had happened. She wasn't looking forward to it - but it was the only thing she could think of.

With a sigh, Nomad pushed open the door to the training room, only to see Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow already in there, sparring. Neither of them acknowledged her arrival, but she knew _they_ knew she was there: they started pulling out a few of their more impressive moves.

Damn ninja show offs.

Nomad set her towel, iPod and water bottle down on the treadmill and stopped to watch. She couldn't help it; she'd never get tired of watching those two throw each other around, taking hits that would probably floor most of the other guys. Both ninjas seemed evenly matched - in a real fight between the two, she wasn't sure who'd win. She secretly hoped Snakes would…she liked him a little more than she liked Storm.

She almost shuddered at the idea, though - a real fight between Snakes and Storm would be brutal. She hoped she never saw it happen. She knew there'd been a few when Storm had worked for Cobra.

It reminded her that she wasn't the only one with blood on her hands. Storm Shadow had taken his fair share of Joes and greenshirts, too. It was just another quirk of G.I Joe that the guys accepted him so easily; and a sign of Hawk's faith in his troops.

Too bad he couldn't have that faith in her.

The ninjas bowed to each other, apparently done. "You want to go next?" Storm Shadow asked, gesturing to the mat with a smirk.

Nomad shook her head. "I take enough beatings in hand-to-hand, thanks. I don't need to add to them."

"You know, anyone else would jump at the chance for private tuition with a ninja."

"Yeah. The only problem is that it wouldn't be 'private tuition'. It'd be 'let's see how many times we can flatten Nomad without causing serious damage'. I'm not stupid." She pointed to Storm before he opened his mouth. "Shut up."

She glanced across at Snake Eyes as she heard his huffing laugh. He took a seat on the weight bench, tilting his head at her.

"And don't look at me like that," she said.

*Like what?* he signed.

"You know what I mean."

She no longer needed anyone to translate for her now - she could read his hands easily. It constantly amazed her how he could convey how he felt without being able to speak or use facial expressions - if he was annoyed, his movements grew sharper and snappy, if he was happy, the signing became a little…not flamboyant, but just…bigger. He used his whole body to communicate, as well as to fight.

Nomad knew now what had happened to him. Scarlett had told her the story one day after hand-to-hand - Nomad still wasn't sure if it was because the redhead had thought maybe it would make Nomad feel better about her own guilt, or not. But either way, Snake Eyes didn't blame Scarlett for what had happened…maybe that was what Red had been trying to get across. Nomad didn't know.

Back when G.I Joe had just been formed, there'd been a desert mission. Scarlett, Rock 'n' Roll, Snake Eyes and Grunt had been one of two choppers when its engines stalled, filled with dust - Rock 'n' Roll and Grunt had got out okay, but Scarlett had been trapped when the door had slammed shut on her gear.

She'd told him to go; Snakes hadn't left her. He'd got her out - but before he did, their chopper had hit the second. Both had gone up - Snakes had been caught in the blast. His face had been ruined. He'd had countless operations since then, and been through more pain than Nomad could imagine.

And Nomad could imagine a lot of pain.

The only thing she didn't understand was how the ninja could still be so…nice. Nomad couldn't remember seeing him lose his temper. Sure, he got annoyed at times (mostly in hand-to-hand when the guys were mucking around) but she'd never seen him really angry. Hell, if she was him…

Ah, but then he was stronger than she was.

*Nomad, are you going for a run, or are you just going to sit and stare? I'm flattered, but what would Lowlight think?*

"You're flattered, huh? Don't be," she retorted, ignoring the pang that Lowlight's name sent through her. "I'm just wondering how long it takes for somebody to realise that you and Storm are actually quite insane."

"Oh, everyone knows it," Storm quipped. "They're just too scared to _say_ it."

"To your faces, anyway."

Storm glanced over his shoulder at Snake Eyes. "Next lesson, we're teaching the death touch. I'll demonstrate on her."

Snakes shook his head slowly.

"Not even -"

Another firm shake of the head.

Storm Shadow rolled his eyes and grinned at Nomad. "You're lucky."

She raised an eyebrow at him, then grabbed her iPod. "Storm, you should know by now that you don't scare me."

"Actually, I do. Just a little bit."

What? Dammit, how'd he _know_ that?

"It's your breathing," he explained upon seeing the look of surprise on her face.

"You can tell?" she asked, blushing. "What am I thinking, _course_ you can tell. You're a damn ninja. Is that how you know when people are on the other side of doors? Like when you stabbed that guy through the door at the Cobra building?" Nomad asked curiously.

"No, I heard him running down the stairs like a herd of elephants," Storm replied. "But you've got the general idea."

Nomad shook her head and put her earphones in. "Ninjas," she muttered.

*Ninjas are cool,* Snakes signed.

She could just picture him grinning underneath the mask. "No. You're not. You're annoying."

*Jealous?*

She snorted, then paused. "Well…maybe a little," she admitted, chuckling.

Storm Shadow hit Snakes lightly on the shoulder. "Let's leave her to her running. I'll be taking hand-to-hand tomorrow, Nomad," he advised, grinning wickedly.

"What? Why?" She looked at Snakes. "You said no death touch."

*He won't be teaching the death touch,* Snake Eyes reassured her, turning his head pointedly to Storm.

"But -" Storm protested.

*_No_.*

Nomad grinned to herself as the ninjas left the room. Then she swore. The ninjas had tricked her into talking. She'd gone into the training room feeling sorry for herself, not wanting anyone to bother her, and now she was smiling.

Damn ninjas.

* * *

"Check it out!"

Nomad looked up from her early lunch to see what was impressive. "Jeckle, are you flashing that tiny little scar around again?"

The woman, sitting on the table with her feet resting on her seat, beamed at Nomad unashamedly and pulled her singlet down. Shipwreck leaned back in his own seat - he'd been eagerly checking out the small scar on Jeckle's left side, just underneath her ribs.

"Hey, it's my first battle scar. Gotta show it off, right?" Jeckle paused, giving Nomad a familiar cheeky look. "We can compare now!"

Nomad laughed - she couldn't help it. In any case, she was far beyond the point of worrying about her scars. Ever since that night in the hotel, when Lowlight had said they didn't matter…but she wasn't going to think of that now. "Why bother? You _know _I win, hands down."

"Hm. Good point." Jeckle drummed her fingers on her knee, then suddenly sat straight and clapped her hands. "Oooh! Now that I have a scar, I have to get myself a tattoo!"

Nomad rolled her eyes, chuckling.

The Pit had been significantly louder since Jeckle had returned from convalescence leave yesterday, all healed and raring for action. She was still as talkative as ever. She seemed to have recovered well…but sometimes she'd turn around, looking for somebody who wasn't there. For a moment, she'd look so lost that it hurt Nomad to watch, but then Jeckle would shake it off and go back to whatever she was doing.

Nomad knew who she was looking for: Heckle. It was sometimes surprisingly easy to forget that your best friend was dead. She didn't know how long it had taken her to stop expecting Matches to walk into her room uninvited.

"…you get yours?"

"Huh?" Nomad asked, realising that Jeckle was still talking. "What?"

"Your tattoo," Jeckle repeated patiently, patting her own shoulder in the place where Nomad's tattoo was. "When did you get it?"

"Just after my first real op." Nomad grinned at the memory. "It was kind of a team bonding experience - we all went and got inked after."

"See?" Jeckle nudged Shipwreck with her boot. "I need to go and get a tattoo because I've been on my first real mission - well, as a Joe, anyway."

Shipwreck grinned rakishly. "And you feel the need for some team bondin'?"

She planted her astonishingly small foot - Nomad had never seen anybody make combat boots look dainty, but Jeckle managed it - on his chest and pushed him back against his chair. "Not the kind of bonding _you've _got in mind, sailor boy. Nomad, you wanna come with me? Get another tattoo?"

"Jeckle, I'm kind of trying to stay away from team bonding at the moment."

"Oh. Right. I heard about that." Jeckle smirked mischievously. "So how's that going for you, anyway?"

Nomad gave a dismissive wave. "Well, it'd be a whole lot easier if people would leave me alone, but it doesn't look like that's gonna happen."

Shipwreck leaned forward. "Exactly," he said firmly. "So ya might as well just give up."

Jeckle clamped a hand over his mouth and went to say something to Nomad, but instead gave Shipwreck a disgusted look and yanked her hand away quickly. "'Wreck!"

Apparently the sailor had just licked her. She wiped her hand on her BDUs, then turned back to Nomad. "But you're only suspended, right? You'll be back soon, won't you?"

Ah. And there was the tricky question. Nomad shrugged evasively. "Hey, if you _did_ get a tat, what would you get done?"

That one question was enough to send the other woman off on a tangent for the next ten minutes. Nomad only half listened as Jeckle consulted Shipwreck on various types of tattoos, and then refused to get one on her ass on the principle that 'no one would be able to see it'.

"I would," Shipwreck answered confidently.

"The hell you would, perv," Jeckle retorted, slapping him lightly across the face.

"You wouldn't let me see?"

"Nope."

Nomad looked up again as Jeckle gave a short squeal. The sailor had grabbed her and pulled her off the table. She was now sitting sideways on his lap, her arms around his neck and clinging to him probably a little more tightly than she actually needed to - it wasn't like it'd hurt much if she fell. Not that Shipwreck would've dropped her, anyway. "Sure ya would," the sailor insisted.

Jeckle glanced over at Nomad. "Little help?"

The wide-eyed look on her face made Nomad snigger - it was an odd mix of surprise and satisfaction. Nomad raised an eyebrow, grinned wickedly and continued eating without saying a word.

"Gee, thanks," Jeckle grumbled.

"So?" Shipwreck pressed. "How 'bout it? You an' me?"

"Well…uh…"

It was the second time Nomad had seen Jeckle lost for words. The first had been in the infirmary not long after she'd been wounded.

It didn't last long. Jeckle turned back to him and grinned. "What the hell; I'm game if you are!"

Shipwreck kissed her right there, in the middle of the mess hall; several Joes catcalled and whistled. At another table, Nomad was sure she saw Footloose slapping a fifty dollar bill into Ace's hand. Smiling, she went back to her lunch.

That was Jeckle for you - Nomad made a mental note to suggest the woman get '_Carpe Diem_' tattooed onto her.

"But I'm not getting a tattoo on my ass, Shipwreck."

"Aw, c'mon!"

* * *

Ten minutes later, just as Nomad was getting ready to get back to work in the kitchen, the mess hall doors burst open. Sci-Fi stood in the doorway for a moment, then he spotted her and hurried over. "Nomad! Good news!"

Good news? That could mean one of two things. "What?"

"Lowlight's back!"

It felt like her heart stopped for a moment. "When?"

"_Now_! Slipstream just flew him and Lifeline in from the Flagg; he should already be in the infirmary." Sci-Fi paused. "You should go see him, you know."

Nomad wasn't sure what to do. She wanted to see Lowlight, of course - but at the same time, she didn't. Sure, everyone had said Lowlight wouldn't blame her for what happened…but what if he _did_? If she was honest with herself, she didn't think he would. But people thought different when they'd been wounded - she knew that from experience. Hell, she'd premeditated murder - she'd hid a gun in a Ziploc bag in the tank of a toilet, for fuck's sake.

She hadn't seen him for a month - she'd had updates from Doc, but she hadn't _seen_ the sniper since that night. She had to know he was really okay.

It scared her how badly she needed to see him.

"Go on," Flint called to her from his table. "I'll let the kitchen hands know where you are. Not that you'll be missed."

"Thanks, Flint," she said quickly, ignoring the warrant officer's dig at her cooking skills. She rushed past Sci-Fi.

"Apron," the laser gunner said, holding out his hand and sighing.

"Oh, yeah." She tugged the strings loose and tossed it over his arm, then almost ran out of the mess hall.

She jogged all the way to the infirmary. Rock 'n' Roll and Clutch were just leaving as she arrived. "That was quick," Clutch said.

"Sci-Fi told me Lowlight's back," Nomad said. "Did you guys see him?"

"Just rolled him in ourselves," Rock 'n' Roll affirmed.

"How is he? Is he okay?"

"Go in an' see for yourself. Wouldn't you know it, first thing he says is 'Where's Nomad?'. No hello, no _nothin_' for me an' Rocky." Clutch winked at her and jerked his head to the door. "You better get in there. He's waitin' for you."

She clapped them both gratefully on the shoulders as she brushed past them into the infirmary. Doc stuck his head out of the office and pointed wordlessly to the back room, smiling broadly. Nomad waved at a slightly groggy Bazooka as she passed. She didn't know what had happened there - knowing Bazooka, probably something stupid. The guy was adorable, he really was. He was just a little bit accident-prone.

"Hey, Nomad, can you scratch my toe?"

She turned to Tunnel Rat, lying in bed with his right leg slung up in a full length cast. "I don't wanna touch your smelly feet," she retorted with a smirk.

"Please? It's driving me nuts, and Lifeline's in with Lowlight." A look of realisation dawned. "Oooh. Right. Hey, my toes can wait, you go and -"

"Which one?"

"Big toe. Right - oh, yeah. Right there." Tunnel Rat sighed in contentment as Nomad rubbed his foot. "Aaah…that's better. I owe you one."

"Hell yeah, you do. Think yourself lucky, Nicky Lee, I don't do feet for just _anyone_." Her eyes flicked to the door. Lowlight was right on the other side of it. It was an odd feeling - she was excited to see him again, yet dreading it at the same time.

Tunnel Rat smiled knowingly and shooed her away. "Go on. If I need my toes scratched again, I'll yell out."

Lifeline came out of the room just as Nomad went to walk in, and she bumped right into him. He eyed her up and down. "You look tired."

"Hello to you to, Lifeline."

He grinned bashfully. "Sorry. Can't help it. How've you been?"

She resisted the urge to peer past him. "Same as always."

He gave her a look.

"Well…actually, a little bit worse than always," she admitted. "But I think I've got everything worked out now. Uh…how is he?"

Lifeline stepped aside for her and nodded her in. "Come see me after, okay?" He closed the door after her, not giving her time to think of an excuse not to.

"Hey."

Lowlight was sitting up in bed. Nomad just stood stupidly in the door, staring at him, not knowing what to do.

"I'm not contagious. You can come closer."

He seemed a little thinner than usual, but apart from that, he looked fine. Then he shifted slightly, and his dark blue pyjama top fell open and she saw the patches across his chest. There were seven all up, all in a crooked line.

Seven rounds in the chest. How had he survived? He should be dead. "I…god, Lowlight, I -"

"Nomad, come over here."

He used the authoritative tone of voice he used on the firing range - she did as she was told, crossing the room hesitantly and stopping a few steps away from him.

"Right here," he said firmly, pointing to the floor beside the bed.

She moved closer. Lowlight reached out and grabbed her hand. For a moment, he just held it, and then he yanked her toward him, reaching up with his other hand to tangle it in her hair and pulling her head down so he could kiss her. She overbalanced and put a hand down on the mattress - he took the opportunity to press his lips harder to hers. She kissed back; he seemed…not desperate, but like he needed it. Like he thought he'd never do it again, and was grateful that he could.

Well, that was how Nomad felt, anyway.

It was a long kiss. When he leaned back onto his pillows, he didn't let her go - he held her face close to his. "This was_ not_ your fault," he said softly.

Nomad's breath caught in her throat. "You…you don't -"

Lowlight shook his head.

"But…if I'd just -"

"Nomad, I made my own decision. Nobody asked me to jump out of that chopper." He tilted his head up and brushed his lips lightly against hers. "You've been thinking it was your fault, haven't you?"

"I…no," she said.

"Liar. I know you. You've been thinking it was your fault, and you've been thinking I'd blame you."

She hesitated. He hadn't said it outright; she had to hear it from him. "…Do you? Blame me?"

Lowlight shook his head. "Of course not."

It was like she'd been holding her breath since he'd been shot, and now she'd finally let go. Like she'd had the weight lifted off her shoulders, and now she was floating. Hell, she felt dizzy with relief. He didn't blame her. He still wanted her.

Oh god…he still wanted her.

That was going to make things so much harder…well, she didn't have to tell him just yet. He'd just got back, it could wait. She could go see Hawk later, and leave it for a few days before -

"Nomad?"

"I…" She wanted nothing more than to climb into that bed and just curl up next to him. She wanted him touching her, leaning over her, moving with her. Dammit, she'd even give him the fluffy handcuffs if he wanted them.

"What's wrong?"

She shoved those less-than-pure thoughts away. She shouldn't be thinking like that, he wasn't even fully recovered yet. "Nothing," she said.

"Liar," he said again. He squeezed her hand, giving her his crooked grin. How could he always see right through her? Damn sniper. "Hey. We're okay."

No, they weren't. But she forced a smile and looked into his eyes. "Yeah. We're okay." She drew a finger down his chest. "Few new scars, huh?"

He nodded. "A few."

"Can I see?"

As he nodded, she peeled one of the patches back. "This one got close," she said, looking at the short row of stitches a couple of inches away from his heart.

"Just missed," he agreed. "A little more to the left and Lifeline said I would've been dead. Speaking of Lifeline, he said you -"

"You were dead, a couple of times."

Lowlight frowned at her. "I know. Don't change the subject. Lifeline said you were -"

"Lifeline worries too much," Nomad interrupted quickly. "You know that."

The sniper gave her a look. "From what I heard, he had good reason to. Look, I was out of it for a couple of weeks, but -"

"Lowlight, you're not supposed to be worried about me. I'm fine."

He looked down at her hand, still in his, and flipped it over to trace his fingers along the scar on her forearm. He liked to do that. It felt good when he did it. "Are you sure?" he asked, meeting her eyes again.

It was the same feeling she'd got when Archer had looked at her, driving home from seeing Goldilocks get off that plane. Like he knew she'd done something - or had been going to do something.

"I'm sure." She glanced at her watch. "I should go. I'm late."

"For work in the kitchen?" Lowlight wondered, chuckling and then wincing slightly. "Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll told me you were suspended."

"I should've been kicked out. I disobeyed orders, and…" Nomad trailed off when she saw the look he was giving her. "Well…today's been a lucky day," she said with a small smile. "Maybe it'll get luckier. I really should go."

Lowlight nodded. "Promise me something first," he said.

"What?"

"Stop beating yourself up. Snakes and Storm do that enough, you don't need to do it to yourself." He paused. "Even though you beat yourself up better than you beat anyone else up."

Lowlight was the one in the hospital bed, and _he_ was trying to make _her_ feel better. How was that right? "I'll try and sneak you something good to eat."

"Just…nothing you make, alright? Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll told me about your cooking, too."

She didn't have to force the smile this time. "Look, do you want me to bring you something or not, smartass?"

"I'm sorry. Please bring me some real food." There was that grin again.

Nomad couldn't help it - she leaned down and kissed him once more. It was bittersweet - she had him back…but this could be the last time she got to kiss him for a long time.

"Nomad? What -" Lowlight raised a hand to her cheek and brushed his thumb against it.

"I really need to get going," she said, turning and heading for the door. "I'll see you later."

"But -"

Nomad shut the door quietly behind her and leaned against it for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. She wiped at the wet track running from the corner of her eye, disguising the movement by pretending to fix her hair. She would _not_ cry. Lowlight was alive and making a good recovery - she had no reason to cry. She was just being selfish.

"Nomad," Lifeline called as she hurried past the office.

"Sorry, Lifeline, it'll have to wait. I'm already late for an important date in food prep."

He pointed at her. "Don't think you're getting out of talking to me. I know where you sleep."

She pulled a face. "Yeah. Good luck trying to get in with Covergirl in the room."

"I didn't think of that."

She waved a hand and hurried back to the mess hall. There'd be dishes to wash already…and when she was done, she'd go find Hawk.

* * *

"Come in."

Nomad squared her shoulders and opened the door as Hawk called her in. He looked up at her from his desk, apparently a little surprised to see her. "Good timing, Nomad."

She frowned, puzzled. "Uh…it is?"

He nodded, smiling slightly. "I just signed the paperwork. You're back on duty as of now."

"Oh…right. Thank you, sir."

Hawk studied her. "You don't look as happy as I thought you would. You realise this means you don't have to work in the kitchen tonight?"

"I'm very happy, General. It's just…" Nomad struggled to find the words. This wasn't going to plan - she wasn't supposed to be having second thoughts.

Hawk tried to help her. "Was there something else you wanted to see me about?"

She nodded, shifting nervously, then took a deep breath and pulled it together. She'd done it once, she could do it again.

But it was a lot harder to do, this time. She was leaving a lot more behind. "Actually, there is, sir." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. "I wanted to give you this."

Hawk took the envelope slowly, giving her that familiar look she could never read. "What's this?"

It looked like he had some idea. Nomad tried to match his gaze, but she couldn't do it. She looked at her feet instead. "Um…sir, it's…"

He waited patiently. He hadn't opened the envelope yet; she was going to have to say it. Typical Hawk.

She took another breath and steeled herself. "It's…my letter of resignation, sir."


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Can't say much, coz I'm at work and shouldn't be on the computer :P

I think I've slowed down writing this because I know I'm almost finished...and I don't want to finish!

Anyway, got to go! Enjoy! Next chapter might not be up for a little while, though. Sorry!

And thanks for the reviews, too!

* * *

Hawk scanned the letter for the second time. Nomad fidgeted. "Sir, can I -"

He held up a finger. She shut her mouth and tried to find something to look at while he finished reading. It wasn't easy; Hawk didn't keep much on his desk. No photos, no stupid little toys - like Flint, who had a Matchbox car on his desk. It was too easy to imagine the warrant officer rolling it around and making little _vroom vroom_ noises when nobody was looking. Hawk's desk was bare, nothing on it but what was necessary.

Come to think of it, Nomad didn't really know much about Hawk at all. She knew he was a good man and a good general who really did care about his troops. She knew he liked strong coffee. He liked steak and the occasional beer.

She _didn't_ know if he had family, if he had friends outside of the military…on that front, the guy was a closed book.

Well…that sounded familiar. Nomad almost grinned.

Almost.

Hawk looked up and gestured at her with the letter, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Have you spoken to Psyche Out about this?"

She shook her head. "No sir. I don't need to. I've thought about it for three weeks straight, and I've made up my mind."

Hawk leaned back in his seat. "Sit down."

She sat, perching anxiously on the edge of the chair.

For a long moment, the general just looked at her with his sharp eyes. "I want an explanation."

Nomad didn't understand. Surely he'd have _some_ idea. "Isn't it kind of…obvious? Sir?"

He crossed his arms and waited. She swore to herself. Hawk wasn't going to make it easy.

"General, I think -"

"Is it because of what happened in Sierra Gordo?" he asked finally.

She shook her head quickly, then thought about it. "It's…a small part of it. I know that was an accident. I _know_ it, but we both know Lowlight just got lucky. He _should_ be dead." She was proud of herself for keeping her voice from cracking. "I just don't think…I mean, I can't…after the Amazon -"

This time, Hawk saved her the trouble. "You don't think you can handle seeing anyone else die."

Nomad nodded. When she spoke again, her voice was flat. She decided to be blunt - it would be easier than trying to find the right words. "General, you saw how fucked up - sorry, it just slipped out - how messed up I was when I came here."

"I did. You've improved a lot."

She felt another swell of pride; Hawk had been taking notice of her. Then she quashed the feeling - the last time she'd felt proud of being noticed had been just before the Amazon.

But this was different. Hawk wasn't Goldilocks. Hawk was a hundred times the man Goldilocks had ever been. "I think what I'm trying to say is…I don't want to go back there."

Hawk picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk for a moment, then lifted his eyes to hers again. "Straight answer, Nomad: do you think you would?"

Honestly? "Yes, sir. I think I would. I'm worried that if I see any more people I care about die, I will." Nomad hesitated, then took a deep breath and plunged ahead. She had to tell _somebody_. She needed to get it off her chest. "Um…can I tell you something, sir?"

"Something else?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She grinned bashfully, feeling her face go red. "Yeah."

"Go ahead."

"It's not something you'll like, sir."

"I'm listening."

Here goes. She'd never told anyone about what she'd almost done, watching Goldilocks get off that plane. Not the shrinks at the hospital. Not even Psyche Out - and she knew she could tell him anything.

But she didn't want to tell Psyche Out. She wanted to tell Hawk. "General, I almost killed him," she blurted out.

Well…she hadn't meant to put it quite like that…but she felt better, now. She'd had that bottled up for a year.

Hawk frowned at her, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. "Excuse me?"

"I thought about it. I almost shot him. I _could've._"

"Goldilocks," Hawk guessed.

She nodded. "I asked to be there when they flew him in. I…I _planned_ on killing him, sir. I hid the gun in the bathroom…I went and got it after the security screening. Nobody thought to check me again. I almost pulled it when I saw a clear shot. That's how screwed up I was."

Hawk looked at her intently. He was a little scary.

Actually, he was a lot scary.

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I had to tell somebody…I understand if -"

"What stopped you?" Hawk asked.

She hadn't been expecting that. "Uh…sir?"

"Why didn't you go through with it?"

That one was easy. "I'm a…I _was_ a soldier, sir. I didn't sign up to murder people. Not even him." She gave a bitter laugh. "I thought he was dead anyway. I thought the sentence…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked guiltily at the general. She didn't know what she expected - maybe he'd pick up the phone and call Law in and have her arrested. Maybe he'd grab her, march her through the Pit and throw her in detention himself. That wouldn't be so bad. Better Hawk or Law than some MP she didn't know.

She sighed. "Anyway, that's the reason I resigned, sir - the _main_ reason. I knew I couldn't serve if I was thinking like that. If…if you have to report it, or something, I understand."

Hawk's face remained carefully blank. "You were under a lot of pressure at the time. I'm sure if I asked Psyche Out about it, he'd put it down to post-traumatic stress. In any case, you proved when you signed up for the Joes that you were fit for duty. And if you're intent on resigning - again - I don't see any need to report you."

It took few seconds to realise what he was saying, and then relief washed over her. "Thank you, sir," she said meekly.

The general leaned forward. "And that brings us back to the reason you're here. Nomad, are you _sure_ you want to resign?"

She nodded. "I think it's best for everyone if I do, sir." It wasn't exactly an answer to his question, and she knew that Hawk realised it.

"What's best," he repeated. "Is it what you really want, though? What will you do?"

"I've already called General Hammond," she admitted. "He's got a job lined up for me."

Nomad had called her old CO right after she'd finished the lunch shift - not long after seeing Lowlight and deciding for certain that she was going to resign.

It had taken a couple of minutes to convince the new secretary to put her directly through to Hammond. In the end, Nomad had pulled rank, putting on an authoritative voice and demanding to speak to the general. Hammond had been pleased to hear from her - she hadn't spoken to him since the morning she'd left with Hawk. He'd been less happy to hear _why_ she was calling. Hammond - while always being strict - had always looked out for her.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to Psyche Out first?"

Was Hawk trying to convince her not to resign? Did he want her to stay? Nomad blinked quickly as she felt herself start to tear up a little. "I'm sure, sir. Consider this my two weeks' notice." She paused, then got to her feet, meeting Hawk's eyes. "General, I…thanks for taking a risk on me. I'm sorry to disappoint you like this."

Hawk pushed his chair back and stood as well. "You haven't disappointed me," he assured her. "You're a good soldier, Nomad, even though we've had a few issues. You'll be missed. If you're sure -"

"I am, sir."

He nodded. "Then I'll have the paperwork ready for you to sign tomorrow. You'll remain on duty for the next two weeks until you leave."

"Yes, sir. Thanks."

"Nomad?"

She turned as she opened the door. "Sir?"

Hawk looked at her a long moment before speaking. "If I were you, and it had been _my _team that was killed…I might've done the same."

She gave him a small smile and shook her head. "No you wouldn't, sir. You're better than that."

* * *

"Lowlight, you dumb sniper pogue, what the hell'd you think you were doin'?"

Nomad stopped as she heard Beach's unmistakable rumble coming from behind the door. She put the tray of food she was carrying on the nearest bed and looked around for something to distract her, but Bazooka was asleep - snoring thunderously - and it looked like Tunnel Rat had checked himself out of the infirmary. She was sure Lifeline wouldn't have let him go without a fight. Or at least a loud fuss.

"Beach -"

"Ah'll tell you what you were doin'. You were thinkin' with your balls an' not your brain, _that's_ what you were doin'."

"She was in the open with no cover, Beach. I wasn't going to leave her there."

They were talking about her. She suddenly wanted to be somewhere else.

"None of us were, moron. You _heard_ her tellin' us to pick up Recondo first; she knew what we were doin'. Dammit, MacBride, you ain't the only one thinks she's been through enough shit to last the rest of her life - short as it may turn out to be."

"Don't say that."

"Awright, _awright_. Sorry." There was a pause, and when he continued, Beachhead's voice was a little softer. "Look, Ah don't know Nomad well as you do, an' Ah don't do relationship advice - yeah, yeah, stop laughin' an' just listen. She was pretty screwed up after you got shot, an' most of us're pretty sure she still ain't right. She's good at pretendin', you know. Ah'm just sayin', you be careful with that one."

"Beachhead. You don't have to tell me. I know. Trust me, I know."

"Well…good."

Nomad suddenly found herself liking Beachhead a whole lot more. Maybe he _did_ like her, after all.

"She's one of Courtney's best buddies. Nomad gets hurt, I get an earful."

Or maybe not.

Nomad turned and headed for the office, intending to leave Lowlight's dinner with Doc.

"Hey! Where d'you think you're goin'?" Beachhead stalked out of Lowlight's room and stepped around her to block her way, his fierce dark eyes taking in Tunnel Rat's empty bed and the sleeping Bazooka.

Nomad paused, thinking quickly. "Uh…you were in there, and I didn't want to interrupt," she said. Oh, yeah. Great excuse, Nomad.

"Well, Ah ain't in there now."

"I can see that," she retorted. She immediately knew from the look on Beach's face that she should've kept her mouth shut.

He stepped closer and glared down at her. "You hear any of that?"

Nomad resisted the urge to step away from the big man. "Any of what?"

"Ah know it's hard, but don't play dumb, scrawny."

And to think she'd actually thought for a moment that Beachhead was okay. "I heard enough," she said cautiously.

"Good," Beach said bluntly. He moved back.

She looked up at him, puzzled. "Huh?"

The Ranger rolled his eyes. "Same goes for you. Don't you burn Lowlight."

"I don't -"

"You _do _know what Ah'm talking about," Beachhead insisted. "Ah ain't gonna say much, coz it ain't mah place, but he ain't exactly had it easy, either."

Oh. Beach was talking about Lowlight's own problems - the nightmares and his abusive father.

Lowlight had told her about his dad, not long after that night in the hotel. When he was a kid, Lowlight had been shy, quiet, and afraid of the dark. His father had constantly bullied him, jeering at him for being 'a little sissy boy'. Once, he'd taken Lowlight to an old caryard, where he'd made the boy hunt rats in the dark, all night. He still had nightmares about it, sometimes. That was why he was usually awake when Nomad was; probably why they'd become close in the first place.

That boy had grown up and joined the army to spite his father. He'd chosen to become a sniper, specialising in night ops. He'd looked at her, saying 'Now I hunt rats of a different kind'.

"You hear me?" Beach waved his hand in front of her face.

She blinked. "What are you, his mother?"

The big man gave her a deadly look. "Double PT tomorrow. Ah want you out there at 0500 sharp."

"What - Beach, that's not fair."

"Suck it up," he said, grinning smugly, and he stalked out of the infirmary.

Nomad stared at the door for a moment, then shook her head in disbelief. She'd have to talk to Covergirl about Beachhead - she was starting to think maybe he wasn't quite so clueless towards people as he let on.

"Hey," she said, pushing the door open with her shoulder and stepping into Lowlight's room. "You hungry?"

Lowlight peered eagerly at the tray and tucked in heartily as soon as Nomad set it on his lap.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, grinning.

He raised his eyes. "Heard you're back on duty."

"Yep. 'Bout time, too."

They lapsed into silence. Nomad shifted awkwardly.

"You don't have to stay, you know."

"What?" It almost gave her a heart attack - for a second, she thought Lowlight was talking about her resigning. Then she realised that he couldn't know; she hadn't told anyone yet, and she knew Hawk wouldn't mention it to anyone.

"Don't you have other stuff to do? I thought you'd be catching up on all the mission gossip."

She waved him off. "It can wait."

Lowlight smiled at her.

Dammit. She still hadn't learned how to resist that.

* * *

It was weird; since handing Hawk her letter of resignation last week, Nomad felt better than she had since the mission in Sierra Gordo.

Of course, she was sad that she'd have to leave…but at the same time, it was like a huge responsibility had been lifted. She didn't have to worry about getting anyone hurt anymore.

The only problem was, she still hadn't _told_ anyone. She only had a week left at the Pit, and she wasn't sure how to break the news.

Especially to Lowlight. He was going to be the hardest one to tell. Nomad hadn't been to see him as much as she should. He was still in the infirmary, despite his protests - Lifeline was practically holding him hostage until he was completely, fully recovered.

Nomad clutched her ringing head as she staggered into the mess hall. Hand-to-hand had been rough today; Snake Eyes was away, and Storm Shadow had filled in again. He'd taken the opportunity to show off the death touch while his ninja brother was away somewhere, probably doing whatever he did when he had some time off.

True to his word, he'd demonstrated on Nomad. She didn't know why, but being knocked unconscious always gave her a headache. This one was a good one: her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her skull.

"Headache?"

Nomad sat tiredly beside Dusty and nodded. "Ninja," she explained.

"Ah. Rough trainin', huh?"

"I wouldn't know," she said, "I spent most of it out cold. Don't have an aspirin on you, do you?"

"Nope. Sorry. Settle for a laugh?"

"Well…I was _really_ hoping for an aspirin, but alright. Make me laugh."

The desert trooper grinned and immediately turned to his other side, smacking an unsuspecting Shipwreck across the back of the head. The sailor turned, spouting a string of curses and raising his fist. "What the bloody blue blazes was _that_ for?"

Nomad giggled. She couldn't help it; and she wasn't the only one. Jeckle, sitting opposite, sniggered as well. "Sorry, 'Wreck," Nomad said. "My fault." She turned to admonish Dusty. "When I said make me laugh, I didn't mean like that."

Dusty shrugged. "You got a laugh, it made me feel better…wins all 'round."

"Oh, yeah?" Shipwreck grumbled, rubbing his head.

"Suck it up, princess," Jeckle said, mimicking Beachhead's accent and earning herself a glare from the sailor.

Nomad shook her head, smiling. "I'm gonna miss you guys," she said absently.

Dusty, Shipwreck and Jeckle looked at her. "Why?" Jeckle asked. "You got a mission?"

"Uh…" Dammit. She hadn't meant to let it slip; she'd meant to leave it until the very last minute to tell them. She didn't want a fuss - which was what she was almost certainly going to get now.

"Nomad?" Dusty looked concerned when she didn't answer right away. He was good at reading people. "What's up?"

Well, she didn't have much choice, now. None of them would drop it, and she wasn't going to lie to her friends. "Last week I…handed Hawk my notice."

There. It was out. See? That wasn't so hard, was it?

They looked at her, uncomprehending.

She sighed and said it outright. "I'm resigning."

Dusty's jaw just about hit the table. "What? Why - ow!" He reached down and rubbed his shin. Jeckle had apparently kicked him.

"You _can't_ resign!" Shipwreck exclaimed loudly.

At the other tables, several heads turned sharply. "Huh?"

"Who's resigning?"

"Somebody's resigning?"

Nomad groaned in dismay. This was _not_ the way she'd planned it…but she kept her voice light. "Well done, 'Wreck."

"Thanks," he replied with a grin, though his heart obviously wasn't in it.

Jeckle held a hand to her face and shook her head in exasperation. "Tact, Shipwreck. Tact."

Breaker tipped his chair back and leaned over to tap the sailor on the shoulder. "Who's resigning, 'Wreck?" he asked curiously.

"Uh…"

As the sailor turned in his seat, Dusty nudged Nomad. "You wanna avoid a big deal, you better get out while you still can. Me an' Jeckle can handle the PR."

She nodded gratefully at them both, but before she got to her feet Dusty grabbed her arm. "It's out now, though. If there's anybody you wanna tell yourself, you should probably go tell 'em soon as you can."

"Thanks," she said. Then she strode from the mess hall as casually as she could, trying not to draw attention to herself.

She needed to get to the infirmary.

* * *

Nomad squared her shoulders and opened the door. Lowlight looked up - as did General Hawk, sitting in the chair beside the bed. "Oh. I'll come back later," she mumbled, starting to back out.

Hawk stood quickly. "You stay, Nomad. I was just leaving. I have some things that need to be done yesterday."

She stepped aside to let the general past. He gave her a look as he strode by, and then he was gone. Nomad wondered if he could tell why she was there. Probably; the guy seemed to have some kind of sixth sense.

Shaking it off, she closed the door and turned to Lowlight.

"You haven't been around much," he said quietly.

Nomad shrugged dismissively. "I've been kinda busy." It was a lame excuse, and she knew it. "You know what it's like. Training, more training, double PT because you looked at Beachhead the wrong way…" Her voice trailed off and she looked at her feet. She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell him. It could wait until tomorrow.

And then it would be the next day, and then the day after that. It'd be so much easier to let him hear it from somebody else. But she knew it would also hurt him more, too.

Lowlight studied her. "What's wrong?"

Dammit. He could read her like a book. "Nothing."

"I know that look, Nomad."

"What look?"

"_That_ look."

"Lowlight -"

He sighed, closed his eyes and shook his head. "Just stop it."

Nomad frowned at him. "What - stop _what_?"

He beckoned her over, patting the bed beside him. She realised she was still standing by the door; she crossed the room, but didn't sit down.

Lowlight shifted, straightening up and adjusting the pillows behind his back. "I know something's up, Nomad." He raised a hand to silence her. "You've hardly been to see me. That doesn't really matter; I know you don't like the infirmary much."

She gave him a small smile. "The only good things about this one are Lifeline and Doc."

Lowlight continued as if she hadn't said anything, probably thinking she was trying to distract him. Truth be told, Nomad had almost hoped he _would_ be put off. "I've seen that look on your face before. You're upset, and you're trying not to show it, but I know you, Nomad. Whether you like it or not. So…just tell me."

She got the feeling that he knew what was coming. Or had some vague idea. Maybe Hawk had tipped him off…

No. Hawk wouldn't do that.

"Nomad?"

"I'm resigning."

It would've been better if he'd said something. It would've been better if he'd looked away. Instead, Lowlight just sat there looking at her.

"Lowlight -"

"When?"

Nomad had to think about it for a moment - her mind had gone blank. "Um…a week. I leave in a week."

"And you're only telling me now?"

She shifted guiltily. Lowlight hadn't raised his voice - he didn't even sound angry. She would've preferred it if he'd yelled at her. "I'm sorry," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "But this way, nobody else gets hurt because of me. Or worse."

"Dammit, Nomad, I told you. This -" He pulled his white t-shirt up to reveal the new, pink scars on his chest. "This _wasn't_ your fault."

For some reason, his calm, quiet voice riled her. "It's not because of you!" she said loudly. "It's me, alright? _I_ can't deal with losing anyone else. _I_ don't want to see any more of my buddies die. I don't…" Her voice cracked, her temper vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "I just can't. I'm sorry," she repeated quietly.

Lowlight reached out to take her hand. "We can work through it," he said. "I'll help. I'll -"

"No. I'm resigning, Lowlight."

"So…you're just gonna take off?"

She paused, trying to find the right words. She knew what she was thinking - she knew what she _wanted _to say, but her brain just didn't seem to want her mouth to work properly. "I'm not just 'taking off'," she said sharply. "I'm telling you now. I let it slip in the mess hall, and -"

Lowlight dropped her hand. "So that's why you're telling me? Because everyone else already knows?" Now he was starting to fire up.

"Dammit, Lowlight -"

"So where does that leave us? Or will you let me know after you've made up your mind? Maybe next week, after you've left, you can call me and tell me."

She frowned at him. "That's not what I was doing. I just didn't know how to tell you. Coop -"

"Don't call me that," he said, his voice flat.

Later, she'd think that was what did it. He hadn't told her not to call him by his real name for ages. Not since they'd both realised there was something going on between them. Suddenly, it felt like her insides had all been hollowed out. "Okay," she said, her voice as emotionless as his. "I guess that's it, then."

He looked up at her. "What - no. I didn't -"

"Lowlight, I'm going. You're not going to change my mind."

"Nomad, I didn't mean that. I just -"

"We're done, Lowlight."

He just stared at her, confused, his blue eyes questioning. God, she had to get out of there.

"Nomad. _Nomad_!"

She didn't stop, not even when Lifeline stuck his head out of the office to see why the sniper was calling. "What's - Nomad, are you okay?"

"Fine," she said over her shoulder. "I have to go."

"But - hey! Lowlight, get back in that room! No, I don't care, get back in there _now_. I'll find out -"

The infirmary door shut behind her, blocking the medic's voice. With a deep, shaky breath, Nomad headed for the personnel elevator.

* * *

She'd been sitting on the A-frame for ten minutes when Beachhead came striding along, a shovel over his shoulder and mud all over him. He was followed - at a distance - by a few grumbling greenshirts, also muddy and bearing shovels. Apparently, they'd done something to warrant the sergeant major enlisting their help to remodel the mud pit on the obstacle course.

Beachhead eyed her suspiciously, then gestured for the greenies to move along while he approached the A-frame. "What're you doin' out here?" he asked, planted the shovel and resting a foot on it.

"Just getting some air, Beach," Nomad said. "_Fresh_ air, so you just stay upwind," she added, pointing at him.

He glowered at her.

"I'm not feeling too good." Well…it wasn't _exactly_ a lie. "I'm just gonna sit here for a bit. You go in."

Beachhead ignored her and strode right up to the A-frame. He was so tall, his eyes were even with hers, even though she was sitting on the frame and he was standing on the ground. He frowned. "Why're your eyes so red?" He stopped, and if she hadn't been so upset, the horrified look that flitted across his face for just a moment would've made her fall off the A-frame, laughing. "You been _cryin_'?"

"No," she said, too quickly. Again, it wasn't exactly a lie - she'd just rubbed her eyes too much to stop the tears from falling. "No, Beach, I haven't been crying," she amended.

He didn't seem to believe her. "Is it coz you resigned?" he pressed. "Yeah, Ah heard."

"No, it's not that."

The Ranger shifted uncomfortably. "Ah'll go get Covergirl."

"Beach, I'm fine," Nomad insisted.

He shook his head. "No you ain't," he said. "Even Ah can tell that much. Stay here. You move, Ah'll kick your ass inta next week."

"Beach -"

"Shut up an' wait there," he said, brandishing the shovel at her before spinning around and loping off toward Garage 2.

It was only five minutes before Covergirl jogged over and quickly scaled the A-frame. "Alright, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Nomad answered. She hoped she looked as composed as her voice sounded.

Covergirl raised a perfect eyebrow. "Nomad. If _Beachhead_ comes looking for me and says it's an emergency, it isn't 'nothing'," she said bluntly. "What's wrong?"

Nomad looked up at the ex-model. "Really, I'm -"

"Goddammit, woman, just fucking tell me!"

"Me and Lowlight are through."

Covergirl opened her mouth, then closed it again and narrowed her eyes. "What?" she asked dumbly.

"I just told him."

"Oh, honey, come here." Covergirl pulled Nomad close and hugged her tightly.

"I'm fine, Covergirl," Nomad lied, her voice muffled by the other woman's jacket. "It's not the first time I've broken up with somebody. Uh…I'm gonna fall off if you don't let go."

Covergirl released her, but looked at her, worry all over her stunning face. "Why? I thought you guys were -"

"You've heard I'm resigning, right?" Nomad asked.

"Yeah…but that's no reason to dump Lowlight."

"It wouldn't work," Nomad said, trying to convince herself as much as the model. "We'd never see each other. There'd be no point."

"But -"

Nomad hopped off the A-frame. "It's done, Covergirl. Too late to change it. Anyway, you don't need to worry about me. I'll be fine. So will Lowlight."

"You don't look fine to me."

Nomad sighed. "Well…I will be."

Eventually.

* * *

Nobody seemed to know what to say to her. The next morning, Nomad sat next to Deep Six for breakfast. He wouldn't ask any questions. He'd just let her sit there in silence - and because he was beside her, nobody would really talk to her much.

"Nomad!"

But then, of course, there was Clutch.

She groaned and turned to Deep Six. "Can't do me a favour and scare him off, can you?"

The burly older man gave her a look.

"Didn't think so. What do you want, grease monkey?"

The mechanic sat down opposite her, a sad look on his unshaven face. "You're not really resigning, are you?" he asked, getting straight to the point. Deep Six shifted slightly, his eyes on her; apparently he wanted to know, too.

Nomad nodded. "Yeah, I am," she answered. "I've got a week left here."

"But…you _can't_ resign," Clutch protested. "Who am I gonna hit on?"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop herself from grinning. "You managed before I signed up. I'm sure you can find someone."

"Yeah, but Covergirl, Scarlett and Jaye hit me back. Literally."

"What about Jeckle?"

"Are you kidding? Shipwreck's a sailor. You don't pick a fight with a sailor."

Didn't she know it. She'd seen 'Wreck in action. "Good point," she said with a laugh. Good ol' Clutch. When she'd first come here, she'd found him almost unbearable. Now, he was one of her best pals. Funny how things turned out like that. She was going to miss him.

"What're you gonna do?"

She shrugged. "I called my old CO. I'm getting a job back where I used to work."

Clutch stared in disbelief. "You're goin' back to bein' a secretary? You're gonna go stir-crazy."

"Actually, no," Nomad corrected. "I'm gonna be heading up security."

It was better than being a secretary - no dealing with people, unless they were breaking in, in which case Nomad would possibly get to shoot somebody.

It had been good timing, actually. She'd called Hammond last week, before handing Hawk her notice. He'd told her that Andy, the previous chief of security, had just left that very same day. Got up and left without giving good reason or waiting for his last paycheque. As a result, there was a position available.

Nomad had jumped at the opportunity, though she was a little disappointed she wouldn't get to see Andy. She'd liked Andy - he'd always been able to make her smile.

"So you're gonna go from bein' a Joe - best of the best - to sitting behind a desk watchin' a whole heap of monitors in case somebody decides to steal a few pens, or somethin'?" Clutch asked.

"Hey, there's a lot of top secret info in that building," Nomad admonished. "I worked there for a year and I don't know half of what's in some of those rooms."

"Yeah, well…" Clutch grumbled. "I'd rather you stay here."

Nomad chuckled. "Clutch, I'd go just to get away from _you_."

He sat back in his chair, pressing a hand to his heart. "Oh, the pain. You hurt me, Nomad, you really do."

She turned to Deep Six. "Next time he's on the Flagg, throw him overboard. Seriously. Please."

"That's not very nice. Deep Six wouldn't do that to me. Right, buddy?"

Deep Six's jaw clenched.

Nomad grinned and clapped the deep sea diver on the back, disregarding the irritated look he shot her. "Oh, sure he wouldn't."

* * *

Sci-Fi gestured for her to keep quiet and tapped two fingers to his visored blue Cobra helmet, then pointed ahead. Nomad nodded and pressed herself back against the wall, assault rifle held tightly across her chest. It was hard to blend in, in these Cobra uniforms. The laser gunner darted forward silently, then took a quick peek around the corner.

_Splat_!

"Dammit! Nomad, go!" He tried unsuccessfully to wipe the yellow paint off his visor. Swearing, Sci-Fi slumped against the trench wall, playing dead - but not dead enough to not trip Leatherneck as he ran around the corner, firing.

Leatherneck punched Sci-Fi on the arm as he got to his feet. "Where'd she go?"

"I'm dead, I'm not telling you anything."

Nomad threw herself off the top of the trench onto Leatherneck before he'd fully straightened up, knocking his gun from his hands. She rolled off and snatched it up, pointing it at him.

He gave her an appraising look. "Not bad. For a Cobra."

"But Wetsuit's behind me, isn't he?" she asked dryly.

"Uh huh." The curly haired Navy SEAL relieved her of both her gun and Leatherneck's.

"Dammit."

Wetsuit gestured for Nomad to walk ahead of him. "Do it properly. Hands on your head like a good little captured snake."

She sighed and made a show of doing as he said. "You're getting _way_ too into this."

"Call it a fantasy of mine," he said, chuckling.

"Creep," she retorted, grinning.

"Ouch! Easy, Leatherneck!"

Nomad glanced around to see the drill sergeant roughly slinging Sci-Fi over his broad shoulders. The laser gunner had taken his helmet off and didn't look impressed.

Wetsuit nudged her gently in the back with the barrel of his rifle. "Move it," he said.

"Alright, alright," she muttered.

Wetsuit and Leatherneck marched them back to the starting point, where Lowlight was waiting. He'd finally managed to get Lifeline to let him out of the infirmary for some light training and to oversee some sessions on the firing range.

So far, he hadn't said a word to Nomad.

Leatherneck dumped Sci-Fi unceremoniously at Lowlight's feet. The sniper nudged the other man - Sci-Fi theatrically rolled over and continued to play dead. Nomad giggled.

Lowlight's eyes flicked over to her, and the ghost of a grin touched his lips, then he turned away. "Go get changed," he said. "Session's over. Leatherneck, Wetsuit, that was good. Sci-Fi, you should know better than to go sticking your head out like that. Nomad, I expected more."

"Hey, at least I didn't get shot," she retorted irritably.

"No. You were captured, which means we have to send a team after you before the enemy can extract information from you."

Nomad blinked, stung. The three other men fell silent.

Lowlight realised what he'd said and turned to her. "Nomad, I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"Forget it," she said sharply, tugging off the Cobra uniform she'd worn for the exercise. "I'll see you guys at dinner."

"Nomad -" Lowlight started again.

"I said forget it," she said over her shoulder, more calmly this time. "I know you didn't mean it."

"But -"

She waved. As she walked away, she heard a sharp _smack_. She resisted the urge to see who it was that had whacked Lowlight across the head.

* * *

The rest of the week passed quickly - if Nomad was honest, it passed _too_ quickly.

She'd said goodbye to most of the people she wanted to. Mutt had set Junkyard on her, and the big dog had almost drowned her in slobber before patiently allowing her to lavish him with hugs. It was almost like Junk knew he wouldn't see her again.

Deep Six had looked up from his breakfast, then reached out and shook her hand. Ever trying to get on the diver's nerves, Nomad had thrown her arms around his neck and pecked him on the cheek, sniggering as he tensed up and wouldn't relax - but he hadn't tried to pry her off, either.

Lifeline had got up and pulled her into a tight hug as soon as she'd stepped into his office. Psyche Out and Doc were in there too; Doc gave her a whole bag of lollipops, making a joke about how his supply would last so much longer without Nomad around. Psyche Out made a last ditch attempt to talk her out of resigning - he'd been trying ever since he'd found out. For once, the shrink didn't win.

Beachhead had probably been the most amusing of them all. He'd refused to look at her, keeping his attention fixed firmly on the greenshirts he was training and gruffly saying, "Get goin', or Ah'll make you run the course until you're too tired to go anywhere."

She took that as the Ranger's way of saying he was going to miss her. She'd have to ask Covergirl for the exact translation, though; Covergirl spoke fluent Beachhead.

But she couldn't find Covergirl. Actually, she couldn't find a lot of the Joes that she _really_ wanted to see - which was odd, because Nomad knew they weren't on missions. The ex-model, Clutch, Rock 'n' Roll, Sci-Fi and Tripwire - she couldn't find them anywhere.

It upset her a little.

Well…if they weren't around, there was only one person left. Taking a deep breath, Nomad raised her fist and knocked on the door.

It opened slightly, and Lowlight leaned on the doorframe, looking out at her.

This was going to be awkward.

"Lowlight - hey!" She broke off as the sniper pulled her inside, closed the door and pinned her with his body, his hands on either side of her face as he crushed his lips to hers.

For a moment, all she did was stand there. Then she raised her hands to his chest and - reluctantly - pushed him away.

"Did I change your mind?" he asked with a small grin.

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Lowlight."

"I know," he said with a sigh. "I had to try, though."

"I really am sorry, Coop," she said quietly.

He shook his head, running a hand up her scarred arm. "You do what you have to do."

Nomad couldn't think of anything else to say, so she just nodded stupidly. "Well…I should probably go, or I'll miss the bus."

Lowlight nodded, too, and opened the door for her. "So…you'll keep in touch?"

"I'll try."

They stood there in silence for a few seconds. Nomad didn't really want to leave - Lowlight clearly didn't want her to.

But she had to.

"Well -"

"So -"

They both stopped.

"Bye, Nomad," Lowlight said sadly.

"Look after yourself, Coop," she replied, stepping out of the room.

The door closed after her with a soft click.

* * *

All too soon, she was standing in the personnel elevator, her rucksack packed and slung over her shoulders, her swag out of storage and sitting by her feet.

The doors slid open. Nomad picked up her swag and started walking without watching where she was going - and bumped right into someone.

"Oops. Sorry, I didn't -"

Hawk looked down at her.

"Sorry, sir," she said quickly. She dumped the swag and raised her arm to salute him. Had he been waiting for her?

Nah. He'd have more important things to worry about, wouldn't he?

"At ease, Nomad," he said, offering his hand. "As of now, you're no longer a soldier."

She took his hand and shook it, trying to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind; what _could_ she say? "Uh…I know it sounds kinda cheesy, sir, but…it was an honour to serve under your command. Really. Thanks for giving me the chance."

"It was an honour to serve with you," he answered with a smile. "And remember; once a Joe, always a Joe. You know where to find us if you need us."

She saluted again - she couldn't help it, it was automatic. "Thank you, General."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "You should get going. Unless you _want_ to miss the bus?"

"Leaving now, sir."

"Good luck."

With her rucksack on her back and her swag over one shoulder, Nomad left the garage, stopping only when Zap beckoned her over to give her a quick hug. The bus stop wasn't far away - just down the road from the motor pool gates. The two greenshirts on guard duty stood to attention as she passed.

Nomad hesitated for a moment, looking back across the grounds. She'd probably never set foot in the Pit again.

Oh well. It was a small price to pay, knowing that she wouldn't be the cause of any more injuries or deaths. Nomad turned her back on the Pit for the last time and walked away.

Her determined step didn't last long - she stopped in her tracks when she saw the group of people waiting for her at the bus stop. "No, no, no. Guys, no. Don't do this to me."

Lady Jaye grabbed Nomad's arm and pulled her into the middle of the gathering. "You didn't think we were just gonna let you walk out on your own, did you?"

"I was kinda -"

"Shut up."

Nomad glanced around. Sci-Fi, Tripwire, Covergirl, Clutch, Rock 'n' Roll, Shipwreck and Jeckle were all there, waiting to see her off. Her heart tightened up a little bit. "Don't you people have better things to do?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't give her away.

"I told Beachhead that if he didn't let us have the session off he wasn't getting any for a month," Covergirl said cheerfully.

"Ah." Maybe that was why he'd been so grumpy before. "Well…thanks."

Lady Jaye put an arm around Nomad's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "We're all gonna miss you, you know."

"I'm gonna miss you guys, too," she admitted. She gave Clutch a look. "Some of you," she amended.

"Oh, that's nice," he retorted.

She flipped him off. He shook his head, laughing.

Jeckle grinned up at Nomad. "You know, it's kind of embarrassing to say, but you're kinda my hero."

She didn't look particularly embarrassed - Nomad was pretty sure Jeckle didn't know the meaning of the word. "You've _got_ to be kidding."

"Nope." Jeckle shook her head. "Ever since you told me how you walked all that way with your friend in the Amazon. That's pretty impressive." She paused, then sniggered. "So, knowing that at least one of us idolises you, are you gonna stay?"

Nomad rolled her eyes. "Nice try."

"Didn't work?"

"Sorry."

"Dammit. Can I bribe you with something?"

"Nope."

Jeckle fell silent. "This sucks."

Shipwreck reached over Jeckle's shoulder and clapped Nomad on hers - and then they all turned as the bus pulled up. "Looks like your ride."

"Looks like," she agreed.

One by one the Joes said their goodbyes. Tripwire almost knocked her over. Covergirl nodded to her. Rock 'n' Roll almost cracked her ribs as he bear hugged her.

She stopped in front of Clutch. "Ah, grease monkey. What can I say?"

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifting her feet off the ground. "You call us, you hear? Otherwise, I know where you work an' I'll get a whole VAMP-ful of Joes an' we'll all come kick your ass."

She gave him a gentle shove. "I'll call."

"You'd better."

Nomad glanced over her shoulder. She told herself that she wasn't looking for anyone in particular…but it didn't stop her from feeling sad when she didn't see Lowlight anywhere. She'd kind of hoped that maybe he'd come to see her off…even though she knew it wasn't likely. "Well…guess I'd better get going."

The bus driver piled her ruck and swag in the luggage compartment underneath the bus. Just as Nomad climbed onto the first step, Clutch called out. "Hey, Nomad!"

She turned. "Yeah?"

"Since you're technically not a Joe anymore, what's your first name?"

She grinned. "Somebody just told me 'once a Joe, always a Joe'. If you're that desperate to know, check my files."

The mechanic waved a hand. "Nah; that takes all the fun out of it. Keep in touch, okay?"

She nodded. "I will. Promise."

The door hissed closed behind her. Nomad took a seat on the side so she could see her buddies waving at her. Jeckle arms tightly around Shipwreck. Poor Rock 'n' Roll swiped roughly at his eyes.

The bus pulled away. Nomad jammed her earphones into her ears and turned her iPod up loud.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Right. I know I said about five chapters ago that there was only a couple of chapters left...well, this time I mean it! :D

Yep, if all goes to plan - which it might not, I admit - there's only one chapter and the epilogue left. Hopefully it all finishes up nicely!

This chapter was going to be longer, but the ending just didn't seem right, so I cut it short. In other words, the next chapter might be fairly long to make up for it!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and for all the PMs and advice and encouragement!

And by the way, I've added courtroom proceedings to my long list of things I know nothing about. All mistakes are mine :P

* * *

Nomad spun the swivel chair around again, trying to break her record of fifteen spins before she got dizzy. She was bored out of her brain. The bank of monitors in front of her showed that absolutely _nothing_ was going on.

As usual.

Sighing impatiently and glancing at her watch, Nomad thumped her feet down on the desk and reached for her coffee. The mug was empty again; she refilled it for the fourth time, but there was only half a cup left in the jug. She'd have to make some more when Tweedledee came up to give her a break in ten minutes.

This job was possibly more boring than being a secretary. At least when she'd been secretary, she'd had paperwork to keep her occupied. Here, all she had to do was sit in her chair and watch the monitors. She'd taken to bringing in her iPod and a book.

Nomad had wanted to start her new job almost straight after she'd left the Joes. Hammond had flatly refused - he wanted her to take some time off first, probably thinking she'd need to pull herself together. She hadn't told him the _exact_ reason she'd resigned, but Hammond was shrewd, and much like Hawk, he seemed to have a sixth sense. Maybe it was a thing _all_ generals had. Either way, Hammond already had somebody filling in temporarily. He'd made it clear Nomad wasn't needed just yet.

It had thrown Nomad. She'd protested, but Hammond had shut her down. In the end, he'd threatened to withdraw the position unless she took some time off. Reluctantly, Nomad agreed.

Well…she'd been thinking about visiting her parents, anyway…

She spent a week at their house. A week was all she could handle of their fussing and not-so-subtle attempts to convince her to retire from service for good. She loved them; they were her family, of _course_ she loved them…but they just didn't get what being in the military was like. She sat them down and tried to explain why she wouldn't retire permanently - technically, she'd just resigned from active duty - but it'd ended in a loud argument. Nomad had gone for a long run, and the next day she'd packed her rucksack, kissed both her Mum and Dad on the cheek and left for her own apartment and blissful solitude.

She didn't move back into her old apartment. She'd found a new one which was closer to work and actually worth the rent she paid. Instead of just a small combined kitchen/dining area, bedroom and bathroom, she had a large kitchen, a separate living area, a decent sized bathroom with a shower _and_ a bath, a laundry and a bedroom. It was nothing too extravagant, but it was big and airy, rather than dingy and stuffy. Far better than her old place. The hot water didn't run out and the fridge didn't leak. And it didn't smell like fish.

Covergirl would be pleased - Nomad had told her about the old apartment. The ex-model had threatened to sic Lady Jaye on Nomad if she returned to living in 'squalor' (Covergirl's word; Nomad preferred 'simplicity'). Lady Jaye was very particular about her standard of living - not that she minded being in the middle of all the action, getting dirt and blood and god knew what else on her. Jaye just appreciated nice things. Especially clothes.

Nomad shook herself mentally and stared blankly at the monitors in front of her, sipping her coffee. The Tweedles - Dum and Dee, the two armed guards watching the main entrance, looked like they were arguing about some kind of sport. Again. From the way they were gesturing, it looked like basketball.

Nomad was so bored, she _almost_ wanted to go join them. But she couldn't. Her job was to keep an eye on the whole building through the security cameras.

It was more interesting during the day than it was on the night shift. During the day, she could watch people going about their lives, even though it made her feel like a spy. The sleazy kind of spy. Sometimes she felt like she should be sitting in the room with all the lights off and the curtains drawn.

She and the other senior security officer - a barrel-chested Vietnam vet nicknamed Stumps on account of the three missing fingers on his right hand - alternated shifts. Nomad had taken the day shift the month before - she was almost halfway through her two months of night shift. She didn't mind night shift; it wasn't like she slept anyway. It was just so damn _boring_.

Nomad wished Andy had stuck around - but then again, if he hadn't quit, she probably wouldn't have a job. Still…she would've liked somebody to talk to. Somebody who _didn't_ think the universe revolved around sport.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, the sharp noise it made as it vibrated against the desk startling her and almost making her fall off her seat. "Son of a bitch!" She snatched the phone up and flipped it open, then grinned to herself. Clutch had sent her another text message.

The mechanic sent her at least one a day, usually something stupid. This one was a photo. Rock 'n' Roll, Breaker, Gung Ho and Muskrat - a sweet guy who was rarely seen without his broad-brimmed hat or in a shirt with sleeves - were in the back of what looked like a Tomahawk. Rock 'n' Roll was smiling broadly, Breaker was giving a thumbs up as he blew a gum bubble. Gung Ho looked liked he was in the middle of telling Clutch off, pointing almost directly at the camera with his eyes narrowed and his mouth open. Muskrat was glancing up from a large sheet of paper (a map, from the looks of it) and looking slightly bemused. All of them had mottled green paint smeared across their faces.

Nomad felt a pang of…was it jealousy? If she was still a Joe, she could've been on that mission, whatever it was. She missed the excitement, the adrenalin rush. Hell, she even missed the briefings and debriefings. And her gun.

But no. It wasn't jealousy - well, part of it was, but not all. Mostly, it was…

Nomad was a little shocked to realised that it was homesickness. She'd never really missed being somewhere before, not even when she was a kid on her first school camp. In the few years she'd been enlisted, she'd never once missed being in her parents house; she enjoyed living on base.

That was another thing Psyche Out would've loved to pick her brains about. She hadn't really called anywhere 'home' - literally called it that - since the Amazon. It had always been 'her apartment', 'her parents' house', 'the base' or 'the Pit'.

Archer had chosen her new codename well that day…

But here she was, actually homesick for the Pit and her friends. More than anything, she missed her buddies. Just hanging out with Clutch, Rock 'n' Roll and Steeler in the garage, sitting on her bed talking to Covergirl after a long day of training, trying to stop Tripwire from falling over his own feet. Even arguing with Short Fuse or being annoyed by Storm Shadow. That's what she missed the most.

Actually, that was a lie. Most of all - even though she hated to admit it - Nomad missed Lowlight.

She tried not to think of him too much, but on nights like this, when not much was happening, it was hard to keep her mind from wandering. It didn't help that every now and then, something would come up that forcibly reminded her of the sniper. Like the other day, when she'd been at the supermarket after work (at seven in the morning), she'd glanced at the display of cheap DVDs by the checkout. Right in the middle of the shelf had been _Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_.

She'd bought the DVD and watched it that day before falling asleep, curled up on the couch in her new apartment. It brought back memories of sitting on the bed beside Lowlight in the hotel, giggling stupidly at the antics of the cartoon rabbit, all the while acutely aware of the man beside her: the sound of his quiet laugh, watching his chest rise and fall from the corner of her eye, even the smell of his deodorant.

Sighing, trying not to wonder if Lowlight missed her as much as she missed him, Nomad sent a quick message back to Clutch telling him to turn his phone off before he crashed the chopper. All she got in reply was another photo, this one of Wild Bill tipping his hat to the camera. She got another text a few moments after: '_Gotta go, Gung Hos goin nuts._'

'Good luck', she sent back. 'Tell evry1 I say hi.'

The phone remained silent. Gung Ho had probably threatened to throw Clutch's phone out the chopper door if he didn't put it away.

Nomad shoved her own cell in her pocket and returned her attention to the monitors. Tweedledum was now standing on his own, rocking back and forth on his feet. As she watched, he started to bob his head, then do a little jig to whatever song he had in his head. Dum loved music - from classical to death metal, rock to videogame soundtracks - he had a bit of everything on his playlist. Seeing him dance was a common occurrence. It was often the highlight of Nomad's night.

She flicked her eyes to the other monitors - Tweedledee was striding through the corridors, on his way to relieve her for fifteen minutes.

He knocked on the door before walking in. "Break time!"

"Why do you always knock?" Nomad wondered.

The guy from Texas grinned at her. "Well, I never know what ya might be doin' in here on your own."

"Dee," she said reproachfully.

"Aw, c'mon, I'm jus' givin' ya a hard time."

She chuckled softly and pointed at him. "You just remember that I'm in charge here, now."

"Sorry, Boss."

"That's better."

Dee glanced over her shoulder at the various screens. "All quiet?"

"_Always_ quiet," Nomad corrected, rolling her eyes.

"Better'n the alternative." Dee rolled her chair away from the desk and spun it so she faced the door. "Take a break," he said. "An' when the shift's over, you an' me can grab breakfast. Or would it be classified as dinner?"

"I ain't havin' dinner with you," she said, mimicking his accent. "I've told you before."

"Okay, so we'll call it breakfast, then," he said without missing a beat.

"I don't think so."

Nomad studied Tweedledee. He was a couple years younger than her, about the same height, but stockier. He'd done a short stint in the army before deciding it wasn't for him and turning to security instead. In fact, most of the people who worked in the building were, or had at some stage been, military. There were only a few civilians. _Everyone_ had to go through rigorous security checks before being hired.

"Well, ain't no harm in tryin'," he said with an easy shrug. "I guess lunch is out, too?"

She nodded and stood up, grabbing the coffee jug. "I'll be in the break room," she said needlessly.

He waved her away and took her place in front of the monitors, chuckling at Dum's dancing. "Lookit that gawddamn loser. I'm gonna hafta give him shit for that."

Rolling her eyes, Nomad headed for the break room to brew another jug of caffeine. She had a fifteen minute break, and then it was back to the monitors until six o'clock.

She almost hoped somebody would try to break in. Just for something different.

* * *

Nomad fished her key out of her pocket and unlocked the door. She was soaking wet - it had started raining as she walked home from work. She couldn't wait to sink into the tub. She'd discovered a newfound love for long, luxurious baths with bubbles and everything. She'd even indulged herself and bought a couple of pretty-smelling candles.

She could just imagine what the guys would say if they knew. Sure, she was - _had_ been - a solder, but still…she _was_ allowed to be girly once in a while, right?

Nomad stepped into the apartment and automatically turned the light on. Or rather, she flipped the switch.

The light didn't come on.

Nomad was immediately on edge. She hadn't heard the pop of the bulb blowing, and she couldn't smell the odour burnt out bulbs gave off. The power wasn't out, either - the lights in the hallway outside were still on.

Only the lights in her apartment were down. Somebody had taken them out.

Or was she just being paranoid?

Nomad tilted her head, straining her ears for any odd sounds. The only thing she could hear was the ticking of the clock on the wall and her own heart, suddenly beating fast.

She knew she should really go back downstairs. But it was _her_ apartment, dammit. And she was a Joe - well, an _ex_-Joe. Either way, she could look after herself.

Nomad edged further into the apartment, closing the door behind her. If somebody came in - or went out - she'd hear the door. The knob squeaked slightly. She'd made it squeak herself.

So maybe she _was_ paranoid, after all…

She slipped her jacket off and dropped it quietly to the floor, then slid the ninja knife she'd got for her birthday from the sheath on her wrist. She wore it to work; she knew she shouldn't, but it wasn't like the head of security had to pat herself down and remove any weapons from her person.

She quickly moved along the short hallway that led from the door to the kitchen. When she got to the corner, she didn't stick her head around - she looked at the framed print on the wall across from her. She hadn't put that there - it had come with the apartment.

Nothing moved in the reflection in the glass: the kitchen was empty. She silently ducked around the corner, opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out a steak knife. Just in case she needed a backup.

The living area was empty, as well. That just left the bathroom, the laundry and the bedroom. Perhaps whoever had broken in was gone - it wasn't like she had much worth stealing. She didn't keep any money in the apartment, and her wallet was always in her pocket, along with her phone and iPod. About the only thing of value was her laptop, although these days it wasn't anything special. She'd had it for a few years.

Oh, and there was the Medal of Honour…but she didn't really care if that went missing.

The small laundry was clear, as was the bathroom. She didn't have to worry about checking behind the shower curtain; her shower had glass doors, which she was grateful for right now. There'd be no _Psycho_ moments.

Heart thumping, adrenalin coursing through her body, Nomad sidled along the hall to the only room left to search.

The bedroom door was ajar. Had she left it like that? She couldn't remember. She gripped both knives a little tighter, listening hard. No sounds came from the room.

She reared back and smashed the door open with her foot. Anyone behind it would be hit in the face - anybody else in the room would at least be startled, allowing her a moment to decide what to do and act.

There was nobody in there. Nomad strode across to the closet and pulled the door open.

No one.

"Huh," she said, puzzled. Maybe the wiring was faulty. It had never happened before, but that didn't mean it _couldn't_.

"Good morning, Nomad."

She recognised the voice - but how could _he_ be _here_? How could he -

Nomad spun to see Destro blocking the door. Every muscle in her body tensed, her mind raced. The only way out of the apartment was the fire escape, which was outside the kitchen window. He must've been waiting out there for her, watching as she searched the apartment, sliding the window open once she'd moved on from the living area.

Why hadn't she heard him?

Why hadn't she thought to _check_? Dammit…it was a stupid mistake.

The bedroom window was too far away from the kitchen window. She wasn't ninja enough to leap from there to the metal stairs. Her only chance would be to fight her way out. She adjusted her hold on both knives, crouching slightly.

Destro noticed her stance change and tilted his masked head to one side. "Are you sure you want to do this the hard way?" he asked, stepping aside to reveal six blue-suited Cobra troops and one red-clad Crimson Guardsman in the hall behind him. They were all armed.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

She needed to buy some time. Just until she could think of a way out. There wasn't much to use - she suddenly wished she owned more stuff. "What do you want?" she asked.

It all came down to the knives. She could afford to lose one - the steak knife, preferably - but if she lost both, she was screwed. There were too many Cobras…although, if she could meet them before they swarmed past Destro and spread out into the room…

"Personally? Nothing. However, the Com -"

Nomad threw the steak knife at him and rushed forward. The throw sucked - it was too high. The handle of the knife skipped off Destro's metal cheek and spun harmlessly past. The blade embedded itself in the wall. Fortunately, the arms dealer had automatically ducked to one side; Nomad slammed her shoulder into him as she darted past.

She grabbed the closest Cobra troop and yanked him forward, at the same time slashing downward with her ninja knife. The sharp blade bit into his chest - blood quickly stained the front of his uniform. She made a grab for the guy's rifle, but the other troops were already on her. The Siegie grabbed her wrist and bent it back painfully, prying the knife from her fingers and then patting her down, searching for more weapons as the others held her. Her wallet was tossed aside; her cell phone was dropped on the floor and stomped on.

Rubbing his ribs, Destro stood in front of her. She thought he was going to hit her for a moment, but that wasn't his style. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking - the mask hid everything.

Well…she wasn't through yet. There were five more guns aimed at her - there was still a chance she might be able to snatch one. She hadn't suffered through all that hand-to-hand with Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow for nothing. She shifted her weight, about to -

"I wouldn't," Destro warned, and gestured to the Siegie. He nodded and grabbed her arms. A few moments later, she heard a click and felt cold metal around her wrists.

Dammit. She was so screwed.

"Alright, you got me," she said, trying to keep her voice cool and not let the panic bubble up. "What next?"

"Now we're going on a short trip," Destro explained. "It was cut short last time, remember?"

So he and the Baroness _had_ been planning to take her somewhere when she'd been caught back at the Cobra Consulate building.

"Oh, yeah? I love vacations."

"Not this one, you won't," the Siegie muttered in her ear.

Nomad scowled, glancing sideways at him. There was something about him…she didn't know what it was. He held her arms tightly.

"How'd you find me?" she asked Destro, still trying frantically to come up with an escape plan. So far, she had nothing.

"My source is well-informed."

"Who is it?"

Destro chuckled. It was creepy, hearing it come from behind the motionless mask. "All in good time," he said. "We have to move along, now."

One of the troopers handed Destro a small box. The arms dealer opened it and pulled out a syringe. Nomad felt a sense of déjà vu and eyed the needle.

"I never did answer your question at the Consulate," Destro said amiably. "Yes, I am qualified to give injections."

"Thanks. That makes me feel so much better," she said dryly.

"It's just a sedative," he said, almost reassuringly. "There'll be no lasting damage."

It was now or never. Nomad jumped, and for a moment the Siegie was actually holding her up by her arms. She lashed out with her feet, caught Destro in the chest. Then the Crimson Guardsman let go, and she dropped heavily to the floor, landing with one arm painfully beneath her. She rolled quickly to her feet. She didn't have time to thread her legs through her arms to get her cuffed hands in front of her, like Storm Shadow had once showed her, but she didn't expect to get far, anyway. This last ditch attempt at escape was more to inflict some pain on the snakes than anything else - and inflict some pain she did. One troop went down as she kicked him hard in the thigh, in the sweet spot that could render a man unconscious. She rammed her shoulder into another troop as he reached for her - but then a third snake grabbed her ponytail and slammed her face first into the wall. She heard a crack, but there wasn't much pain; it was just the plaster cracking with the force. For a brief, dazed moment, Nomad wondered if there'd be an imprint of her face in the wall.

A hand pressed firmly against her forehead and tilted her head back. Something sharp jabbed her neck - she tried to jerk away. "_No_ -"

"I asked you if you wanted to do this the hard way," Destro chided. "If you'd just agreed to come along with us, this wouldn't have been necessary. You can let her go, now."

Nomad spun around, then reeled as the room kept moving without her. "Wha -"

"Just a sedative," Destro repeated. He looked fuzzy around the edges. "We don't want you causing trouble on the way, do we?"

She tried to take a swing at him, but lost her balance and stumbled against him. "Sunnovva -" she slurred as he caught her and held her steady…and then she was out.

* * *

Dynamite lowered her right hand and sat in the witness stand, waiting anxiously. She'd already given her statement…so why had she been called up again? She'd told them everything she remembered. Her story and the scars on her belly should have been all they needed.

'They' made her nervous. They were all sitting to her right; the group of generals who would ultimately decide Goldilocks' fate. All of them were imposing men, all in dress uniform. She'd never seen any of them before. Most of them were looking at her shrewdly; some were looking at Goldilocks.

And _he_ was staring at her, too, his expression dark. He was probably wishing he'd put a bullet in her brain instead of just leaving her. When she met his eyes, he smirked.

Dynamite ignored him - she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shudder - and glanced at Archer. He gave her a reassuring smile. Her military-appointed lawyer, a tall, thin, balding man called Adams, nodded.

Goldilocks' lawyer - she called him Sam because he reminded her of Sam the Eagle from the Muppets - approached. Dynamite lifted her chin and sat up straighter, determined not to let Sam or Goldilocks know how freaked out she was.

Sam leaned against the witness stand and smiled at her. "Corporal," he greeted. "How are you today?"

"Fine," she said shortly. "Get on with it."

Sam glanced around the courtroom - a small, wood-panelled room somewhere in one of the lower levels of the Pentagon. "Very well. Sherry, I just have a few things I'd like you to clear up for me. Do you think you're up for it?"

She nodded curtly. How could her heart be beating as fast in this room as it had in the jungle? Everyone was looking at her. She was starting to feel nauseous.

"Can you tell me again exactly how long you stuck in the Amazon, Sherry?"

She frowned. Why was he asking that? She'd already told them. "Ten months," she said impatiently. "More or less. I've already -"

Sam smiled again. "I'm sorry, you seem to have misheard my question. I asked _exactly_ how long."

Dynamite blinked. "I…ten months," she repeated. "I mean, it might have been a week or two either way, but -"

"So you can't remember?" the lawyer pressed. He pulled a page from the folder he had under his arm. "Your files say it was ten months and six days."

"So I'm a whole six fucking days out," she snapped. "Forgive me if I don't give a -"

Over Sam's shoulder, she saw Archer close his eyes briefly. The judge admonished her.

"Sorry, Your Honour."

Sam put the page away and gave her a look that was too full of empathy to be honest. "That's a long time to be on your own, especially in a dangerous situation like that."

"It wasn't dangerous until _he_ came back," she muttered, glaring at Goldilocks. Again, the judge gave her a warning look.

"In all that time, did you ever get sick?" Sam asked.

The question took her by surprise. "Only once, when I ate something bad. I was laid up for a few days."

"Symptoms?"

"Vomiting, dizziness…the usual when you eat something you shouldn't."

"Fever?"

Dynamite thought about it. "I might have had a fever. It's all a little bit blurry."

"It's okay if you don't really remember. Obviously, you were under a lot of stress. Things seem to be a little hazy for you," Sam said, then continued before she could protest. "Did you ever see things that weren't really there?"

"I…what?" The subject change rattled her; she hadn't been expecting it.

Adams quickly pushed his chair back and stood, raising his hand and objecting. The judge waved him down.

"You're under oath, Sherry," Sam reminded. "Did you ever have any hallucinations brought on by sickness? Or maybe just by plain loneliness?"

It took Dynamite all the strength she had not to grab the lawyer by his expensive-looking tie and knock his teeth out. "What, you think I came down with a sudden case of…of jungle fever, or something? That it was all in my fucking head?"

"Corporal, you will answer the question and you will control yourself," the judge said sternly.

"I'm just saying it's a possibility," Sam said, glancing across at the generals. Dynamite was a little astounded to see some of them nodding thoughtfully. Some were taking notes. "Sherry?"

She scowled. "No, I never had any hallucinations," she said deliberately. "And even if I did, no hallucination could do this," she added, showing her scars.

Sam gave her a pitying smile - but she noticed he didn't look at the scars. "Some drug addicts have hallucinations so vivid they injure themselves. Some see bugs burrowing under their skin and try to dig them out -"

Adams stood up again. "Your Honour -"

The judge motioned impatiently for him to sit down and turned to Sam. "Unless you have more questions that are relevant, you can sit down."

"Only a couple more, Your Honour," Sam said, eyeing Dynamite. "The area you patrolled…weren't there a lot of insurgents hiding out there?"

"…Yes," she said grudgingly.

"Is it possible that, while talking to my client, you could have missed some sneaking up on you?"

She shook her head. "No. I would have seen them."

"Are you absolutely _sure_ of that?"

"Well -" Dynamite faltered.

"No," the lawyer answered for her. "So is it not _also_ possible that this man here - a decorated and well-respected general - turned to fire his weapon on the attacking insurgents, and you mistakenly thought he killed your friends?"

Adams didn't even make it halfway out of his seat before the judge glared at him. He sat down angrily, shaking his head, obviously outraged. Archer looked about ready to tear somebody's head off.

Dynamite spoke through gritted teeth. "I know what I saw. If someone other than…_him_…had killed my friends, I would've seen them. We were in _my _camp. I picked it because there were very few places an enemy could hide close by. I knew that camp. If somebody else had been there, I would have known. I _would_ have."

Sam smiled again - Dynamite wondered if there was a Muppet shark. "Thank you, Sherry."

He returned to his seat beside Goldilocks, who was looking alarmingly smug.

"You can step down now, Corporal," the judge said.

Dynamite kept her face blank as she strode back to her chair and sank into it. Adams put a hand on her shoulder, then prepared to make his closing statement to the generals.

"They can't…they can't use any of that, can that?" she asked Archer quietly, peering past him at the generals. They were talking quietly amongst themselves - every now and then, one would look at her.

"I don't know," Archer admitted. "I think it was more a last ditch attempt to discredit your story." He scowled over at Goldilocks. The big blonde man looked back, then waved at Dynamite.

She shoved her chair back. Archer grabbed her and forced her to sit down. "He's not worth it, 'Mite."

"But -" Dynamite knew Archer was right. And anyway, a courtroom was hardly the right place to pick a fight. "He makes me sick," she whispered.

"I know, kiddo. Me, too."

Dynamite sat back as Adams took the floor to make his closing statement.

* * *

Nomad went to rub her bleary eyes. Something tugged on her wrist, and then her other arm tried to follow; her hands were cuffed behind her back. For a brief, hopeful moment Nomad closed her eyes again, hoping that maybe the feeling was the remnants of a dream - but her head hurt too much for it to be a dream.

And if it _was_ a dream, the cuffs would've been fluffy and Lowlight would've been there.

With a groan, Nomad forced herself to sit up. Her head was pounding, her mouth was dry, and her face hurt. She wrinkled her nose. Something cracked around her nostrils and then crumbled away. Dried blood. What -

Oh. That's right…Destro and the Cobra troops. She must've got a bloody nose when the snakes slammed her into the wall. She hadn't been awake long enough to realise.

She wondered how long she'd been out.

But that wasn't the question to be asking. The _important_ question was where was she, and how the hell was she going to get out?

Nomad rattled the cuffs on her wrists. They were tight, of course; no chance of slipping her hands free. She rolled onto her side and curled into the foetal position, then slowly slipped her hands around her ass and threaded her feet through her circled arms. Once her hands were in front of her, she felt a little better. Now she wasn't _quite_ so helpless.

Except that not only was she cuffed, the cuffs were passed through a ring attached to a chain, which was in turn bolted to the wall. It was just long enough for her to be able to lie on the floor. Nomad turned and yanked on the chain a couple of times, hoping that maybe the bolts were loose…but of course, she couldn't be so lucky. Nevertheless, she tried again, grabbing the chain and literally hanging from it for a moment, bracing her feet against the wall.

The bolts wouldn't budge.

"Dammit."

Nomad slid to the floor, rubbing her temples, trying to think. Well…the chain wouldn't move. That was fine. She'd just have to find some other way out. She checked her watch - the face was cracked, the hands stopped at 6.23.

Dammit. She'd liked that watch.

She glanced around the cell. There was nothing in it except for a surveillance camera up in the corner furthest from the door.

Nomad glared at it, then swore loudly - enunciating the word just in case the camera didn't have sound - and raised both her middle fingers defiantly at it.

Oh yeah, Nomad. That was telling them.

One long hour later, the heavy cell door opened. Nomad got to her feet as two troops in blue stepped in. Only one of them was armed.

Time to put her next plan into action. She acted up her sore head - it was still throbbing, but not so much. She made sure to wobble a little and pressed herself against the wall.

"Hands up," the unarmed troop ordered, gesturing to her.

"Where am I?" she asked, making her voice a little higher than normal. She tried to look innocent - it usually worked. "What's going on?"

The armed man sniggered.

"I _said_ hands up," said the first.

Nomad cursed to herself and rethought her plan - obviously, these two were smarter than your average snake. She'd have to try something else.

"O-okay," she stammered, holding her hands in front of her, elbows slightly bent.

The armed troop stepped to the side, keeping a clear shot of Nomad as the other man stepped forward, pulling a key from a pocket. He grabbed one of Nomad's wrists and unlocked one side of the cuffs.

But he hadn't made the chain was stretched taut.

Big mistake.

Nomad jerked a knee up hard into the man's groin at the same time as she used her cuffed hand to loop the still-attached chain around his neck. She yanked him to her, using him as a shield, blocking the armed troop's line of fire. She pulled the chain tight, feeling the man's throat working beneath it.

"Key," she demanded.

The troop grunted and held the key up. She snatched it from his hand.

"Backup!" the armed troop shouted out into the corridor. "Need backup!"

Nomad tried to stay calm as she unlocked the other cuff. The guy was scrabbling at the chain, his eyes starting to bug out.

"Give me the gun," she ordered the armed Cobra troop.

The guy stared at her, apparently thinking she was bluffing. She gave a sharp tug on the chain - her hostage made a horrible gurgling sound. His flailing was getting weaker.

"Give me the fucking gun!"

Footsteps. Close - almost right outside. Nomad couldn't wait for more troops to flood into the cell. She released the chain and shoved the man away from her, then launched herself at the armed troop. They hit the floor hard, both wrestling for the rifle. Nomad grabbed it and snapped it sharply up just as his finger tightened on the trigger. There was a crack, and the troop's finger was suddenly bent at an unnatural angle. Small chunks of concrete rained down on them - the Cobra, underneath Nomad, squinted against the grit falling into his weeping eyes. Nomad smashed an elbow as hard as she could into his face, shattering one of his eye sockets. He cringed away, writhing and curling into a protective ball, pressing his hands to his head.

"What's going -"

Nomad swung around and opened fire in the general direction of the door, cutting down the unfortunate soldier who'd just poked his head into the cell. When he fell, she dragged him in, pushing the door shut just as a burst of gunfire sparked off it.

The troop with the broken face wasn't going anywhere. Nomad quickly checked the other man. He was out cold, an angry red bruise around his neck.

She heard voices approaching. She fired blindly around the door - there were a couple of short screams, and then nothing except return gunfire. By the sound of it, there were at least five more guns out there.

Nomad searched the third Cobra, the one she'd just shot. He had a ka-bar in a sheath on his leg and a handgun in a shoulder holster. She took both, and immediately used a round from the handgun on the surveillance camera after giving it a final "Fuck you!" and a flip off.

That camera had been pissing her off for the last hour.

She cocked her head to one side. It was suddenly very quiet on the other side of the heavy door. What were they doing out there? She nudged the door open slightly with her foot, then pulled it back as several more rounds bit into the floor where it had been.

Hm. Looked like a standoff.

Nomad checked the assault rifle. Half a clip left. There were nine bullets left in the handgun.

There was nothing for it. She could either rot in a cell, or she could die trying to escape.

Well, actually, she was probably going to die either way. And if she was going to die, she was going to take as many snakes with her as she could.

She just wished she could see a little more of the corridor…

Fuck it.

Nomad swung the door open and leaped out into the corridor, spraying a line of bullets from the rifle in her left hand, firing erratically with the handgun in her right. She landed hard on her shoulder and rolled to her feet.

_Click_.

The assault rifle was empty.

_Click_.

So was the handgun. Nomad braced herself -

But no bullets slammed into her. She opened her eyes and peered around cautiously.

They were dead. All of them. Seven Cobra troops, three to her right and four on the left, all sprawled on the floor in pools of blood.

She done it! She'd taken out ten Cobra troops on her own and escaped her cell!

And nobody had even been here to see. Typical.

Nomad swapped her gun for one with a mostly full clip and set off quickly down the hallway, taking out surveillance cameras as she went. There was no point trying to be stealthy; an alarm was wailing over the PA system. The best she could do was make sure nobody could see where she was heading.

Wherever she was, it was like a maze. Or a dungeon. Corridors led off in all directions. She doubled back a few times, seeing Cobra troops prowling around ahead, searching for her.

She found a fire door and pushed it open. Nomad glanced up the stairs beyond it - they went up; apparently she was on the very bottom floor of wherever she was - and changed her mind. She didn't want to get caught in the stairwell.

"There she is! Get 'er!"

On the other hand...

A round whined past her head and buried into the wall. Nomad didn't bother turning to see where the somewhat familiar voice and the shot came from - she just bolted up the stairs, taking them three at a time. She raced up a couple of floors before bursting through another door.

She emerged into what looked like some sort of foyer area. Blue-uniformed guards immediately snapped around to look at her; she strafed the room with a long burst of fire until -

_Click._

"Dammit, not _now_!" She was on the verge of panic. Not good. Stay calm, stay calm, stay -

The door smashed open again behind her, and then something big hit her hard, knocking the breath from her lungs and pinning her to the floor. She struggled, managed to flip onto her back and went for the stolen ka-bar strapped to her thigh. A knee swiftly landed on her hand. Her fingers were mashed painfully against the tiles.

"Move and I'll put a bullet between your eyes."

For a brief, irrational moment, Nomad thought it was Beachhead who'd tackled her - the man leaning over her, with the .45 pointed to her forehead, had a balaclava on. His eyes were cold. Not only would Beach never pull a gun on her, but he was bigger than this guy, and favoured green - _this_ guy's fatigues were mottled grey. It was the Cobra saboteur, Firefly.

Firefly snatched the knife and slid it away. "Get up."

Nomad got up slowly. Behind Firefly, in the stairwell, she saw two of the Dreadnoks, Ripper and Buzzer, watching. It had been Buzzer whose voice she'd heard before.

"Drop the gun."

It was empty, but it had still felt reassuring in her hands. Reluctantly, Nomad did as he said.

"Walk," he ordered, gesturing to the elevator across the foyer.

She glared defiantly. "Fuck yourself." She certainly sounded braver than she felt.

Firefly drew his arm back. Nomad ducked just in time to avoid the full blow of the pistol against her temple - instead, the butt of the .45 glanced off her cheek, splitting the skin. She felt blood start to drip.

The saboteur aimed the gun at her head again. "Walk, or I _will_ shoot you."

"He'll do it, too," Buzzer interjected. "Don't doubt it, Medu - uh, Nomad."

Firefly cast an irritated glance over his shoulder, then turned back to Nomad. "Hands on your head. _Move_."

Her heart was pounding so hard, it felt like she had one of those little alien things from the Ridley movies in her chest, about to burst out.

She raised her hands and started to walk. What other choice did she have?


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

…Okay, okay, I _know_ I said last chapter that this would be the last one…

…So, I lied. :P I'm sneaky like that :D

But I just couldn't help it! This chapter just went in _completely_ the opposite direction I intended it to…and it's a little bit darker than I meant it to be, too. This is NOT the last chapter. At the risk of sounding like a broken record…the NEXT chapter will be the last.

I think.

At least, as far as I know, it will be.

On the other hand, my laptop decided to shit itself on Saturday. Apparently, somehow I lost all the startup files. Don't ask me how, coz I got no freakin' idea, but it _really_ pissed me off. Luckily, I had most of my writing on my USB stick (including the start of this chapter! Phew!). Alas, I didn't have my other fic I started. But that's okay, because I wasn't really too fond of it and didn't know where it was going to fit in.

But that's enough from me. I promise, this won't drag on too much longer!

Once again, thanks to everyone who reviews, and to all those people who constantly put up with my Pms! As one of my favourite authors says in all his books, 'Never underestimate the power of your encouragement'!

* * *

Nomad walked at gunpoint to the elevator, hands on her head. The Cobra troops - the ones she hadn't taken out with her last desperate spray of gunfire - watched, their rifles poised. They needn't have bothered - Firefly marched just out of reach behind her, his .45 aimed at the back of her skull. Buzzer and Ripper followed closely, wondering who'd have to clean up the bloody mess Nomad had made downstairs.

The wailing siren shut off, and the sudden quietness that followed was unnerving.

Firefly gestured for her to push the elevator call button. As they waited for the lift to arrive, Nomad glanced around quickly. Blue-uniformed troops were hurriedly removing the dead and wounded from the foyer. Outside the window, she could see trees and, in the distance beyond them, blue.

The ocean? Had Destro brought her to Cobra Island?

Nomad's heart sank. Not only had she been abducted, but nobody knew where she was. She wouldn't be missed until tonight, when she didn't show up for work.

Or…maybe Clutch would get suspicious when she didn't answer his text messages - wait. No. Clutch was on a mission, he wouldn't have his phone on him.

Dammit. How the _hell_ was she going to get herself out of this?

The elevator doors pinged open. With one hand on her shoulder and the other pressing the gun to the small of her back, Firefly shoved her in. Ripper and Buzzer crowded in after them. After pressing the button for the topmost floor, Ripper leered down at her.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" she snapped, shifting her weight.

Firefly jammed the gun into her back painfully.

"Ow! Son of a -"

He did it again; Nomad got the point. She shut her mouth, scowling at the metal doors.

How could she escape? The emergency hatch was out of the question - for now, at least. She'd be grabbed before she even got it open.

Maybe she could use the tiny space to her advantage…the three men were all big. The Dreadnoks were clumsy, she knew that; but she wasn't sure about Firefly. He was probably more competent than the Australians.

What the hell. If she got shot, she got shot. It was better than doing nothing.

Nomad took a deep, bracing breath - and lunged forward. Firefly's fingers raked her shoulder as she slammed her hand on the button console and dragged her fingers down. Almost every button lit up - it was going to be a long elevator ride.

"What the -" Buzzer started.

She dropped to the floor and lashed out with one leg. Ripper came down hard, almost landing on her, clutching at the knee she'd just snapped sideways at a hideous angle. Both Buzzer and Firefly stumbled as the hairy Dreadnok writhed around, swearing at the top of his lungs. Nomad slammed her boot into Ripper's face, and he went limp.

She regretted it as soon as she did it - Ripper had made a nice distraction.

Oh well. One down, two to go.

Nomad got her feet under her and did a froggish little hop toward the saboteur, knocking him back against the wall of the lift, at the same time grabbing his right wrist and smacking it hard against the metal. His fingers popped open reflexively - he dropped the .45.

Nomad lunged for it, but Buzzer grabbed her ankle and yanked her leg into the air. She went down clumsily on her stomach as he pulled her away from the gun - instead, she latched her arms around Firefly's knees and dragged him down with her.

The elevator pinged, and the doors slid open. Looking up, Nomad saw two Cobra troops turn to peer in, eyes wide. She reached up and slapped at the 'Close Doors' button.

"Don't just stand there!" Firefly roared at the troops, but it was too late. The doors hissed shut, and the elevator started to descend again.

Buzzer tried to keep a hold on Nomad's foot as she thrashed around. Her arms were still around Firefly's legs, and then -

_Crack!_

Nomad reared back as the saboteur swung around, the .45 in his hand. The gun slammed into the same side of her face as it had before. She rolled sideways, too late to soften the blow. A large black spot appeared in the middle of her vision, then faded.

She heard the doors open again. In desperation, she tried to scramble to all fours, but Buzzer still held her ankle tightly. In any case, Firefly was still sprawled on the floor, too. She would've had to clamber over his long legs to get out.

The doors shut - and Nomad knew she'd missed her chance.

Firefly growled, bracing one hand against the wall as he got to his feet. He grabbed the front of Nomad's shirt, heaving her up and hurling her into the back of the elevator. He brandished the .45 in front of her face.

"What would Cobra Commander say if you killed me before he got to question me?" she asked quickly, hoping to buy some time.

Well, actually, she was hoping not to get shot.

"Uh…she's got a point, there," Buzzer chimed in. He had one foot resting casually on Ripper's chest.

"Shut up," Firefly snarled, but it was aimed at the blonde Dreadnok more than Nomad. Then his eyes crinkled at the corners. She could see his lips twisting into a nasty grin under the balaclava. "Who says I'm gonna kill you if I shoot you?" He pressed the barrel of the gun to her shoulder.

Nomad turned her head, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the pain. When it didn't come, she opened one eye tentatively - only to see the butt of the gun once again flying toward her face.

For the second time that day, Nomad blacked out.

* * *

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting in the dark. It could have been an hour. It could have been longer.

It had _probably_ only been ten minutes since she'd woken up.

Nomad's head felt like it was splitting in two. Her cheek was sticky with blood. It was hard to breathe - not only were her hands cuffed behind her back again, but this time Cobra had taken no chances; a length of rope bound wrapped tightly around her chest, holding her bolt upright against the chair back. Her legs were bound to the legs of the chair. If she didn't look directly at it, she could make out the vague outline of a table in front of her, and maybe another chair directly opposite her, but that was about it.

She was terrified.

It wasn't the dark. There were other senses to rely on apart from sight, she knew that both from her experience in the Amazon - where it got so dark at night you couldn't see your own two feet - and hand-to-hand. Snake Eyes had run a few sessions in near complete darkness; Nomad hadn't done too badly in them. Of course, Snakes had still kicked her ass (as gently as possible)…but he'd said she'd done well. Nomad had been proud of herself that day. Praise from a ninja was always good.

No, what scared her was the fact that she couldn't move. It freaked her out - the only thing she _could_ do was turn her head. Unless somebody came within biting distance - which wasn't likely - she was completely helpless.

She tried not to show her fear, just in case there was a camera in the room, but her breathing was quick and uneven and she _knew_ her eyes were wide, darting around wildly. She could feel her ribcage thudding against the rope in time with her heart.

Nomad had never had a panic attack before. She wondered if this was what it felt like.

Suddenly, a door opened somewhere behind her. Light flooded into the room, and then a dim, yellowed bulb hanging from a cord flickered on overhead. Even thought the light was dull, she had to squint against it.

"Hi, Nomad."

The voice seemed familiar. As she looked up, the Crimson Guardsman pulled the other chair out and sat down.

She scowled at him and glanced around the room. It looked like she was in the basement again; the room looked very much like the cell she'd woken up in before. It was empty except for the two chairs and the table. There were no windows. As she'd suspected, the room was fitted with a surveillance camera up in the back corner.

"Not talking?"

"Go to hell." At least her voice was steady.

The Siegie studied her for a long time. She glared back, slightly more confident now that she could see. Her back was to the door - she didn't like that, but there was nothing she could do about it. The table looked heavy - not that she could move to shove it toward the Siegie anyway.

Nomad racked her brain. What would Snakes do? Or Stormy?

Well, _there_ was an unrealistic thought. It didn't matter what they'd do - Nomad wouldn't be able to do it. She wasn't a kickass ninja.

The Siegie leaned forward. "Nomad," he said in a conversational tone, getting straight to the point, "I'm going to give you two options."

She sat silently, attempting to stare right through him.

"Don't get me wrong, I know which one you're gonna choose. But I'm gonna be nice about it anyway. At least, to start off."

She kept her face blank.

"I mean, you probably know what I'm gonna say, right? You must have _some_ idea?"

Nomad knew the voice, now. This was the same Siegie who'd been at her apartment.

"Anyway, two choices. The first is 'the easy way'. I ask you questions, you give me answers. I'd _really_ like it if you chose this way." He paused, looking at her. All she could see of his face were his blue eyes and dark eyebrows. If he was expecting her to say something, he'd just have to be disappointed.

"The second choice is - yeah, yeah, I know it's predictable - the second choice is 'the hard way'. I ask you questions, you _don't_ give me answers, and I find some…creative…ways to make you talk."

…Oh god, no…

"Now, I'm gonna give you some time to think about it," the Siegie continued, pushing his chair back. He leaned down as he passed her, putting a hand on her shoulder. If she'd been able to move, she would have jerked away.

"I'm good at what I do, Nomad," he said quietly. His tone had changed - he was serious now, his voice threatening. "You choose the hard way, and I'll make the Amazon seem like a vacation at fucking Disneyland."

Nomad turned her head quickly, snapping her teeth at his hand. She was way off making contact, but he still pulled back quickly. She grinned smugly.

For a moment it looked like the Siegie was going to backhand her. Then, with a single shake of his head and a single, quiet laugh, he strode to the door. He turned the light off as he slammed it behind him and locked it.

Nomad closed her eyes and took a deep, shaking breath. Some choices. Spill everything about the Pit and the Joes…or have it - oh god.

Oh, _god_. He was going to torture it out of her.

The last time…

Nomad shook her head. She couldn't think about that right now. She had to think about escaping. But how? She was tied to a chair, in the dark, in a locked cell, in an enemy fortress, most likely on a goddamn island.

She'd never get out on her own. She was as good as dead.

Nomad lifted her head and looked up at the corner where she'd seen the camera. She wondered if it was equipped with night-vision. Probably was. The Siegie was probably sitting in front of a monitor somewhere, watching her.

Well, he wasn't going to get anything from her. Nothing at all. He could do the job that he was so good at - she wouldn't betray the Joes.

Nomad wouldn't break. Not this time.

She'd die first.

* * *

The Siegie returned a long time later. Nomad still didn't know how long she'd been sitting there - but her ass was numb and her shoulders were starting to ache. The cuffs were cutting into her wrists.

"Thirsty?" the Siegie asked, holding a glass of water toward her.

Nomad stared straight ahead. She was _very_ thirsty. She said nothing.

"You've been here five hours. Did you know that? Five hours without water. I bet you're _real_ thirsty." He put the glass on the table in front of her. "Did you think about your choices?" he pressed, sitting down.

Five hours. Was that all? Damn. It felt so much longer than that.

"Thought so." The Siegie paused, then rested his elbows on the table. "Are you sure? You don't just wanna tell me where the Joe headquarters are, do you?"

She stayed quiet.

"Where are the Joe headquarters?"

No answer.

The Siegie leaned forward. "Last chance, Nomad. Tell me. I'll let you have a drink if you do. You _must_ be thirsty. Look at that nice, cold water. I promise you can have it if you talk."

Nomad was insulted that he thought she'd betray her friends for something as insignificant as a drink. She glared at him.

The Siegie sighed and sat back, flapping his hands in surrender. "Alright. Fine. Be difficult." He stood up, leaving the glass on the table. "Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be talking soon enough."

Nomad tensed, waiting for…she didn't know what. A slap? A punch in the face? Maybe a kick in the gut?

Instead, the Siegie walked right past her, turned the light off, and closed the door behind him.

The glass was still on the table. And she couldn't even get to it.

Nomad wasn't afraid of dying. She had been, once - facing Goldilocks, just after he'd shot Skipper, Spider, Hotshot and Matches. She'd been so frightened of him; she'd been more frightened of the man than the enormous black caimans in the river, the biting piranhas, the anacondas that were thicker than her leg. Once, she'd been underneath her cammo net, half-dozing, when the slinking black shadow of a large cat had prowled by - she'd been nervous then, but not scared.

Goldilocks had scared the shit out of her.

She'd come close to dying back then - her promise to Matches was the only thing that had kept her going. If he hadn't been there, she probably would've given up.

But this was different. Cobra could do what they wanted - she'd die before she gave them anything. She wouldn't break again.

But she didn't _want_ to die.

She wanted to see the guys again. She wanted to tell Clutch what an idiot he was. She wanted to go shopping with Covergirl, Lady Jaye and Scarlett. She wanted to see Storm Shadow's irritating, know-it-all smirk; rile up Short Fuse; hell, she even wanted to backchat Beachhead and get a week of double PT.

She wanted to tell Lowlight how much she -

Don't think about that, Nomad. Get angry. That's the only way you _might_ make it through this.

It had only been two days since she'd first woken up chained to the wall in that cell - two days since she'd been given the choice: talk, or be tortured.

So far, the Crimson Guardsman - Interrogator, she called him - had settled just for hitting her. Her left eye was puffed shut. Her lips were split and swollen, her cheeks bruised cut. She'd heard a rib crack the last time he'd punched her in the side. He'd untied her legs, yanked her boots off and cracked the soles of her feet with a metal rod.

Nomad hadn't given him anything yet. She was proud of herself.

As soon as the door opened, she knew things were about to get a whole lot worse. The Siegie had a spring in his step she hadn't seen before.

Interrogator took a seat opposite her, as he always did to start off with. His eyes glinted - she could tell he was looking forward to today's session.

"Do you have anything to tell me?" he asked pleasantly.

"Name, rank, serial number," Nomad replied darkly. "Nothing you haven't heard before."

He sighed. "Really? I thought we might've been past that."

Nomad watched, trying to keep her face blank, as he pulled something from his pocket and placed it gently on the table.

A pair of pliers.

"Are you absolutely sure?" he pressed.

"You know what?" she said suddenly.

Interrogator cocked his head to the side. "What?"

"You can stick those pliers up your ass. I'm not fucking telling you anything."

He looked at her for a moment, then he laughed, leaning his elbow on the table and holding his head in his hand as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Oh, Nomad," he said, between chuckles. "I like you. I really do. Always have."

Always have? What the hell did that mean?

Nomad didn't get time to think about it any more. Interrogator snatched up the pliers and walked around behind her.

She tried to twist around to see what he was doing, but she was still bound tightly to the chair. Interrogator grabbed her right hand.

Nomad braced herself.

The pliers rested against the tip of her thumb.

She gritted her teeth, tensing every muscle in her body.

The pliers clamped down on the end of her thumbnail.

"Last chance," Interrogator whispered in her ear.

She took a deep breath. "Fuck you."

He ripped her nail out. Nomad couldn't quite hold back the high-pitched whine that came from her throat, but she cut it as short as she could. She felt blood trickle down onto her hand as Interrogator rolled it around in his, grabbing her forefinger.

"Tell me where the Joe headquarters are."

She shook her head, not trusting herself to open her mouth. The next fingernail came out. She grunted, biting down on her tongue.

"It's just a few little words, Nomad. You can whisper, if it makes you feel better."

Her eyes snapped open. Goldilocks had said the same thing to her, almost verbatim. Nobody knew what he'd said to her - it was in her classified files, but apart from that, nobody knew.

Interrogator must have seen those files. But the only people who _had_ them were…

He yanked another nail out. She hadn't been ready for it, and she gave a sharp cry.

"That's better," he said lightly.

And it suddenly struck her. Nomad _did_ know that voice, but not from her apartment. She'd known that voice from _before_ then. She just hadn't recognised it in this context, in this situation.

The Siegie paused, apparently realising something was different. "Nomad?" he asked. Perversely, he sounded concerned.

"Andy, you fucking son of a bitch."

He changed tactics with the nail of her ring finger - instead of tugging it out quickly, and getting it over with, he made it slow, pulling millimetre by millimetre. "_Finally_," he said with a chuckle. "I thought I was gonna have to take my mask off before you'd recognise me." He moved to the side and removed his helmet and mask.

Nomad didn't look at him - he grabbed her chin with bloody fingers and forced her head around, jarring her neck. He frowned. "Why don't you don't look surprised?" he demanded.

This question, she _could_ answer. "I'm kinda used to shit happening to me," she said dryly. Then, just because she could, she added, "You bitch."

Andy slapped her cheek. The cut - the one she'd got when Firefly had pistol-whipped her the first time - cracked open and began to weep. "Look, it's nothing personal," he said. "As I said, I always liked you. But then you went and joined the Joes."

"You were Cobra all along," she said flatly. Dammit, she should have _known_!

But…how could she have? She heard Psyche Out's voice in her head, telling her to be reasonable; she'd never even _heard_ of Cobra before Hawk asked her to become a Joe - and Andy had always been good to her.

Until now.

He nodded and took her hand again. "Nomad…look, I'm sorry. I really am. But I have to do my job. If the Joes hadn't got to you first, I might have even asked you to join Cobra."

Nomad tried to throw herself backwards in the chair, but couldn't get the leverage she needed. "Like I'd ever -" she began, outraged.

"Oh, you would have," Andy said quietly. "I saw you when Hawk asked you to become a Joe. I was watching the whole time - the security camera behind your desk, you know. When he asked…you changed. You might not have noticed it, but I did. You stood straighter, you held your head higher. Like you were already a soldier again. You were always going to say yes."

Dammit…how could Andy know her better than _she_ did?

Andy was still talking. "If I'd told you about Cobra - I'd been thinking about it - you would've signed up. I'm sure you would've. But I waited too long."

With that, he tore out her pinky fingernail. Nomad jolted, as much as her bonds would allow her, then closed her eyes, breathing hard.

When she opened them again, Andy was crouching in front of her. His eyes crinkled around the corners, but she no longer found his smile charming. It was cold. "Let's start again, now. Do you want to tell me where Joe HQ is?"

She spat at him, a big gob of bloody spit that hit him in the face. "Go to hell, you fucking bitch," she said through swollen, cracked lips.

Andy sighed. "Oh well," he said. "Guess I'll have to do your other hand, too."

* * *

Three days. Nomad sat in the reeking interrogation room, sat in her own blood, saliva and urine - Cobra didn't believe in toilet breaks for torturees. She'd have to make a complaint about that.

Every now and then, Andy would dump a bucket or two of water over her. Sometimes it was ice cold - it was better when it was cold, it woke her up a little. Other times, it was hot, just short of boiling. Those were okay, too…it was like a really quick, hot shower. Either way, it washed away a little of the filth. She suspected it was more for his sake than hers. She was used to the smell.

It was hard to hold her head high, now. She'd made a point of trying not to slump when Andy was in the room. The small show of defiance was all she could do - she was still cuffed and tied. Her shoulders ached. Her butt was numb. Her feet and hands kept getting pins and needles.

Sometimes she thought it was a _good_ thing she was tied to the chair; it kept her upright. If she wasn't, she would've been on the floor.

She had no nails at all anymore. Andy had pulled them all out - her fingernails _and_ toenails. Several of her fingers were broken at wrong angles. Again quoting Goldilocks almost word for word, Andy had promised to leave her teeth alone.

He'd also promised something special for today.

Nomad hoped he was going to kill her. She didn't know how much longer she could last.

The door opened. She had no idea what time it was - night, day, morning, afternoon. The only reason she knew it had been three days since she'd been captured in her apartment was because Andy had gloatingly told her so.

Something was different. Andy wasn't wearing his usual (fake) smile. And…

Oh, _fuck_. Oh, god, no. _Not again_!

Andy saw Nomad's eyes flick to the large knife in his hand. "That's right, Nomad," he said coldly. "I'm done playing, now. It's time for you to tell me what you know."

"I know," she croaked, "that you're…a traitorous, murdering, ass-kissing bitch." Every word hurt her parched throat. She was only allowed a small sip of water when Andy was feeling particularly generous - which wasn't often. "Why don't you…go suck Cobra Commander's -"

Andy strode around behind her, grabbed her right hand and twisted it painfully in the cuff, then sliced her skin open, right along the scar already running up her arm. Nomad, not expecting _that_, couldn't help but scream.

Andy grabbed her knotted hair and yanked her head back. "Joe HQ. Location. Now."

God, she'd been so stupid. How could she have been so stupid? She'd found the place she belonged, and she'd left. "My name…is Nomad. Corporal. Serial number -"

Andy reached around, the blade lightly dragging down her front. When he reached her lower belly, he casually snipped the button off her bloodstained shirt and twitched the fabric aside. "Nomad?"

Her voice was hoarse, but flat. "Fuck you to hell."

He opened up another of her scars.

She'd left all her friends behind. _Stupid_.

"_Tell me where it is!_"

Now she'd never see them again.

Slice.

Covergirl. Shipwreck. Jeckle.

Slice.

Clutch. Rock 'n' Roll.

Slice.

Sci-Fi. Tripwire. Mutt. Junk.

Stab.

Flint. Jaye. Scarlett.

Lowlight.

The door burst open. "What the hell are you doing? You're gonna kill her! Stop!"

Dammit…she should have stayed with them. Leaving…she'd done it so she wouldn't lose them. And she'd lost them anyway.

She wished she'd stayed.

Hands pressed themselves to her belly, gentle hands. A new voice, one she hadn't heard before, spoke quietly. "Shh, shh. It's stopped now, it's stopped. You can stop screaming."

She was screaming? Huh. Nomad hadn't even realised.

"Get out," the voice said.

"My job is to -" That was Andy.

"Your job is to extract information, not _kill_ her. You failed. Get out."

"But -" Andy suddenly sounded uncertain, and after a few moments, the door slammed shut.

Nomad tried to focus on the new face, but tears - and pain, and weakness - made her vision waver.

"Stay with me…"

Her sight faded around the edges.

"No! Stay with me, dammit! I need a medical team in here! _Now_!"

Nomad couldn't feel anything anymore. The sensation was somewhat familiar…had she felt it before? She couldn't remember.

"We're losing her…"

"…don't look like we can do much…

"Shit, lookit what he _did_…"

"Who cares? She's just a Joe."

Nomad actually felt her heart slow. For a brief moment, clarity returned.

_She was dying_.

And then…she felt…

Nothing.

Nomad was dead.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

Right. I'm not even going to _think_ "Next chapter is the last one" anymore, because it never works! :P Heh heh…but it _is_ almost finished.

No, really. It is. Hey, I even have a reasonable idea for a sequel now! Go me!

Oh, and I got my laptop back, and it turned out I didn't lose _anything_! I know it's just a computer, and it's pretty sad to not be able to live without it…but I was so happy!

But anyway, who cares about that? On with the story! Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, and PM'd!

* * *

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

"Welcome back."

Nomad struggled to open her eyes. When she finally managed to open her right one slightly - her left eye wouldn't open at all - she saw an older man in a white coat leaning over her. There was a small red emblem on his chest. He wore blue underneath.

"Nnn…" she groaned. She didn't know if she was trying to actually say something or not. Her head was fuzzy. Her whole body felt like made of lead. She couldn't feel a thing.

"Shh," he said as he placed a hand on her forehead. "It's okay now."

She tried to glance around the room, but her head didn't want to move. Wherever she was, it was reassuringly bright - it hurt her eye, but she liked the light. She could see the table on the adjustable arm that could swing out over her bed - and she could see the jug of water that was on it. She gazed at the water longingly. "Wuh…"

"Water? Would you like a drink?"

"Uhn."

For some reason, Nomad thought he wasn't going to give her any water. She didn't know why she thought that. But he did - he poured her a glass, and then gave her a bendy straw to sip from.

"Slowly, now. Just a little -"

She ignored his warning, gulping at the water. It wasn't cold - room temperature - but god, it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever tasted.

The man sighed and pulled the glass away quickly - before she'd had enough - then grabbed a bucket and towel from somewhere beside him.

"Nuh!" she protested stupidly. Tears rose to her eyes - and then her stomach abruptly heaved, and she brought up all the water she'd just drunk. Sudden, sharp pain stabbed through her side. She started to cry, both because it hurt and because she was still thirsty.

"Shh. Don't worry. It happens," the doctor said, wiping her mouth. He offered the straw again. "This time, just a _little_ bit."

Hiccuping weakly, Nomad did as he said, taking only a small sip.

"There we go. That's better. A little bit more? That's good. Good girl."

Nomad rested her head back on the pillow. She liked this man. He was nice. He gave her water, not like…not like that other man…

Comforted by the presence of the nice man in the white coat, Nomad slipped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

White coat.

Red insignia.

Blue shirt.

Cobra.

_Shit_.

_Beepbeepbeep._

Nomad's first blurry, panicked thought was to get away, to run. As soon as she moved, though, her whole body protested. Pain hit her; a sharp flare in her right side that became a dull throb, and also a familiar pain that centred around her lower belly.

She couldn't move. Her arms and legs were immobilised. Why couldn't she _move_?

Stop. Calm down.

Nomad lifted her head to see her wrists and ankles bound by straps to the hospital bed.

Wait…hospital bed?

_Beepbeepbeep._

What the hell _was_ that noise?

The man in the white coat - no longer a comforting figure to Nomad, but a sinister one - leaned over her and gently pressed down on her shoulders. "It's okay. You're safe here."

Nomad stared fearfully up at him. What had he done to her? What had -

It didn't matter. What was done was done; she had to focus on getting away. _Then_ she could figure things out.

"It's okay," he repeated reassuringly. "I'm a doctor. Nobody's going to hurt you. Don't worry."

She struggling against the straps that held her down. But she was hurting, and weak, and she couldn't do anything. "Wh - where?" she asked hoarsely.

The doctor spoke quietly and firmly. "You're in a private room in the infirmary."

"Why?" Her throat hurt, and as she formed the words she felt her lips cracking. Her left eye wouldn't open all the way.

"Why are you in the infirmary?" he clarified.

She nodded curtly.

"I brought you here two days ago," he answered. "You -"

She growled impatiently. "_Why_?"

"Don't you remember?"

Nomad frowned. Remember what? The last thing she remembered was -

Her apartment. People in her apartment.

_Beepbeepbeep._

Wrong. The last thing she remembered was a room. _Not_ her apartment - this room was dark, always dark, and when the light finally came on after what was sometimes hours, sometimes only five minutes -

Andy. Andy, who had once been her friend. No; _pretended_ to be her friend.

Andy had tortured her. He'd hit her. Over and over again, he'd hit her. He'd broken her fingers - again, the ones Goldilocks had snapped - with a hammer. When she hadn't answered his questions, he'd flattened her nail-less hands on the heavy table and smashed the hammer down hard on her knuckles.

And then he'd brought the knife.

Even though she was hurting all over, Nomad's temper flared. That _bitch_.

She looked up at the doctor and summoned all her strength. "Why'd you…bring me here?" she rasped.

"Let me get you some water -" he started.

"Fucking tell me!" she snapped, wincing as her hands tried to ball into fists. "To fix me so Andy can…work me over again?"

The doctor shook his head. "No. Andy's not going to touch you again. He had his chance to extract information out of you, and he failed. He's been reassigned."

_Beep beep beep._

Nomad's heart slowed a little, and as it did she realised what the constant, irritating beeping was. She was linked up to a monitor, one of the ones that beeped with each beat of your heart.

"Who _is_ Andy?" she asked.

The doctor sighed. "He's one of our psychologists."

Nomad's mind worked quickly - or as quickly as it could, under the circumstances. That one sentence explained a lot. Andy had had a year to study her; he knew Nomad _almost_ as well as some of the Joes did. If he was half as good as Psyche Out, he'd already worked out her weaknesses, her strengths…her fears…before all this. And when he'd been head of security at work, he had access to pretty much the whole building. It was the only place that had her files apart from the Joes. Breaker never found any sign of his computers being hacked; Andy must have stolen the files from work after she'd signed up.

Well, now she knew who had leaked her details to Destro and the Baroness back at the Cobra Consulate. And it explained him using Goldilocks' words against her. It explained him reopening her scars to try and get her to talk.

Hah. She'd screwed his plan up. She hadn't said anything.

The doctor was watching her carefully, as if he expected another outburst. Or maybe he was waiting for her to let something slip.

Well…that wasn't going to happen. Nomad took a couple of minutes to gather her scattered thoughts. A clock on the wall read four forty. Whether it was night or day, she still didn't know. There were no windows in her 'private room'. She vaguely recalled waking up before, but that could've been hours ago.

"Why'd you bring me here?" Nomad repeated finally. She could deal with thoughts of Andy later. Right now, she had to think a way out of this massive mess she'd got herself into.

He sighed. "I'm a doctor," he said bluntly. "I made an oath to help people who need it."

"How much did I need it?" she asked. Half of it was genuine curiosity, the other half was to get an idea of the severity of her injuries. She needed some idea of how far she could push herself.

Nomad's eyes swept the room. Door about ten steps to the right - curtain around the bed. The table which could serve as either a bedside table or a table that sat over the bed, thanks to the moveable arm it was attached to. She had to get the doctor to take the straps off her wrists and ankles.

He shook his head. "A lot. You died," he said bluntly.

She snapped her attention back to the doctor, taken aback. "I what?"

"You were dead for a whole minute. You went into shock after…well…"

"After Andy cut me up," she finished for him.

The doctor nodded. "Your body was already weak from the beatings. Your heart just…stopped."

Nomad scowled. "So why didn't you just let me _stay_ dead?"

"Like I said, I'm a doctor," he answered patiently. "Letting people die isn't in my job description."

"Even if I'm a Joe?"

"Even if you're a Joe," he agreed. "The Hippocratic Oath doesn't make exceptions. And for the record, I don't approve of Andy's…methods."

Nomad couldn't stop herself - she gave a bitter laugh. "Nice to know."

The doctor ignored her and gestured to the water on the table. "Thirsty?"

She hated to admit it, but she was. He held the glass for her as she sat up as far as she could and turned her head to sip from the bendy straw. Something told her only to drink a little at a time.

"You were lucky - for want of a better word - that Andy reopened your old scars instead of making new cuts," the doctor explained as she drank. "The scar tissue was thicker; the cuts weren't quite as deep as they could've been."

"Yeah, that _is_ lucky," she said darkly.

"They stitched up well," the doctor assured her. "The recovery should be fairly quick. A few weeks, I'd say. You've got a cracked rib - and your hands, of course - which'll take a bit longer, though."

A cracked rib. Broken fingers. Cuts. One eye that was still swollen half-shut. Many, many bruises. Not to mention a whole lot of lost dignity.

But it was nothing compared to walking for two days, dragging a man behind her. Nomad could handle this pain. And if she could make it through Andy's sessions without breaking…

It suddenly hit her.

She _hadn't_ broken. She hadn't said _anything_. She was stronger than Andy had thought she was; she was stronger than _she_ thought she was.

…She could still make it.

A sudden feeling of resolution flooded through her. She was getting the hell out of here. She was going to see her friends again. She was going to get back to the Pit.

And once she was back, she wasn't going to leave again.

Now…_how_ was she going to get out?

* * *

The doctor hesitantly agreed to undo the ankle restraints. Nomad's knees popped as she bent her legs slowly and straightened them again. It felt so nice to be able to stretch, even though it made her wounds twinge.

The good thing was, she was clean. A nurse had apparently bathed her when she was unconscious. Nomad hadn't liked the thought of it a year ago; she still didn't like it now. It made her feel…vulnerable. And slightly embarrassed.

But it was better than being caked in blood and filth.

Nomad tried to convince the doctor to free her wrists, as well, but of course he wouldn't. He was still a Cobra; he couldn't just let her go. But her legs were free. It was a start.

It turned out she'd woken up at four forty in the afternoon. She was barely left alone for the rest of the day; when the doctor wasn't in the room, there was a nurse with her. Nomad was pretty sure it wasn't to keep an eye on her condition.

They gave her ice cream for dinner. She wasn't even allowed to feed herself - the nurse held the spoon for her, raising an eyebrow as Nomad rubbed her lips in the frozen goodness first to sooth the cuts. The woman didn't like her - it was obvious from the way she spoke. Nomad figured that if the roles were reversed, and she had to look after a Cobra troop, she'd feel the same.

Not long after eating, Nomad started to yawn. She allowed her eyelids to droop shut, and she feigned sleep until the nurse drew the curtain around the bed, quietly closed the door behind her and locked it.

Nomad sat up as straight as she could. Her mind was working through the painkillers she'd been given, trying to figure out her escape. Her hands worked constantly, twisting around, trying to stretch the bonds, snap them, _anything._

It didn't work. All she succeeded in doing was knocking her broken fingers. It made her angrier each time, until finally she kicked her heels against the mattress in frustration. Which, in turn, hurt her battered feet.

And then she started again, twisting her wrists, flexing her muscles, ignoring the pain. Thinking.

…If she could just get _one_ strap off…

* * *

The nurse came back early the next morning. She helped Nomad stagger to the bathroom - Nomad's feet still hurt, but not quite as much as she made out. She hobbled along, wincing with each step. She kept her arms crossed over her stomach, hands held gingerly in front of her, palms up. When she was done, the nurse took her back to her bed and strapped her wrists down carefully.

"Wait," Nomad called, waiting until the nurse was just about to close the door. "I'm thirsty."

The nurse sighed. "I asked if you wanted a drink five minutes ago."

"Well, I _didn't_ want one five minutes ago," Nomad retorted petulantly.

Mumbling something under her breath, the nurse strode back across the room, swung the adjustable table over Nomad's bed, filled the glass with water and bent the straw down. "Here," she said shortly, heading for the door again.

Nomad thanked her quietly, craned her head forward and closed her lips around the straw. Then she pulled it out of the glass and spat it out. "Hang on! I dropped my straw."

The nurse stopped. Nomad saw her shoulders heave and her hands clench briefly into fists. Then the woman turned, walked back to the bed, picked the straw off the blanket beside Nomad's shoulder and dropped it back into the glass.

This time, when the nurse's back was turned, Nomad managed to pull the glass off the table, spilling water all over herself. "Um…excuse me…"

"Oh, for -" The nurse stomped over and slammed the glass back onto the table.

"Sorry," Nomad said, watching carefully.

The nurse leaned down to pick up the straw, then swore quietly when she realised she'd have to help Nomad change into dry pyjamas. She pushed the table aside and undid the strap holding Nomad's left wrist - and Nomad, gritting her teeth against the searing pain in both her side and her belly, sat bolt upright, grabbed the table and yanked hard, smashing the edge of it into the side of the nurse's head.

Nomad wasted no time. She shoved the dazed nurse aside and rolled off the bed, clumsily trying to unfasten the right wrist strap. Her swollen, broken fingers couldn't grasp the buckle; she bent and used her teeth.

Once she was free, she quietly closed the door and locked it. She could take her time now…there were no cameras in the private room. Not even this one, where a Joe was held hostage.

It struck her now that that was odd…but she didn't have time to think about it. She was free of her restraints, yes…but there was a whole Cobra base to get through before she could celebrate.

Nomad felt something warm sticking her hospital-issue pyjamas to her belly. Glancing down, she cursed; a red splotch was spreading across her shirt. She must've popped some stitches. Damn.

Don't think about it. Just get the hell out.

The nurse was staggering to her feet. Nomad strode over - hobbling only a little now - and shoved her down onto the bed while she was still stunned. Nomad slowly fastened the restraints, trying to use only the few good fingers she had. Then she stuffed a corner of the blanket into the nurse's mouth, gagging her, and began to search the room for something - _anything_ - that would help her escape.

There was a stock of bandages, Band-Aids and painkillers on a shelf across from the bed. Nomad grabbed a bandage and, with a sense of déjà vu and a wry grin, wrapped it tightly around her gut. She popped a couple of the pills.

She turned and pointed to the nurse warningly. "You even _try_ to make a sound, I'll shove the rest of that blanket down your throat. You hear?"

The nurse nodded, eyes wide. Nomad felt a little guilty - the woman _had_ been decent enough to her, after all - but she quickly blocked that out. She didn't have time to think like that.

Okay, Nomad thought, scanning the room. Think. What can you use?

There was the glass. She could break it, use a shard of glass as a weapon. But that wouldn't help her much. If it came down to close quarters fighting, she wouldn't have a chance; not in her crappy condition. And somebody outside might hear the glass shatter…best to leave it on the table.

What about the nurse? Nomad turned, then quickly patted her down. In the pocket of the nurse's white coat was a stoppered syringe filled with a clear liquid. Nomad yanked the blanket out of the woman's mouth. "What's this?"

"_Secur _-"

Nomad popped the cap off the needle and held it dangerously close to the nurse's right eye. "I'll do it," she said flatly. "I don't want to, but I will if I have to. _Don't_ try me."

"Sedative. It's a sedative," the woman said quickly.

"What's out there?" Nomad asked, jerking her head toward the door.

"Recovery."

"Anyone in there?"

"Four troops."

"And past recovery?"

"Surgery is straight ahead. Medical office is to the left."

The layout seemed similar enough to the infirmary at the Pit. Nomad figured she'd be able to find her own way out. She stuffed the blanket back into the nurse's mouth, drew the curtains all the way around the bed, and turned the light off. Then, she quietly cracked the door open and peeked out.

As promised, there were four Cobra soldiers lying in the beds in the next room. Two were asleep, one was reading a thick book, the last had headphones on and was watching something on a portable DVD player.

The adrenaline rushing through her - combined with the painkillers - helped dull the pain. Now or never, Nomad. Go for it.

She stepped into the room. The reading snake was in the first bed; he looked up as he heard the door click shut and lock behind her.

It took him a moment to realise who she was - he opened his mouth to yell out, but Nomad darted forward and jabbed the syringe into his neck. She didn't know if it was the right place or not, if he'd die or just be knocked out when she pressed the plunger down; but she did it anyway. He was out cold in a few seconds. Nomad checked his pulse; he was alive. She withdrew the needle and pulled the plunger back out. The next snake she stuck with it would get some air bubbles in his veins.

The two sleeping Cobras were next, one on each side of the room. She crept past.

Just the one troop left…the one watching a DVD. His eyes were fixed firmly on the screen. She could hear the tinny sounds from his headphones.

She wondered if she could just walk past without him noticing.

No such luck.

"Hey, nurse, can I -" The Cobra broke off as he saw that Nomad wasn't the nurse. Nomad reached over and slammed the DVD player shut, then picked it up and smacked him across the face with it. His head snapped to the side and he went limp.

Good. Nomad didn't really want to kill anyone in a hospital bed. Not even a Cobra.

Glancing around at the two remaining snakes to make sure they were still asleep, Nomad hurried onward, heading for the door to surgery. She turned back as something caught her eye - a flash of blue on a shelf.

A Cobra uniform, folded up, ready for a recovered troop to put it back on.

Her eyes darted to the unconscious man. His earphones were askew - she straightened them. Now it looked like he'd just fallen asleep watching his movie. He wouldn't be needing his uniform anytime soon. She took it. There wasn't a helmet with it, but there was a red mask. It would have to do.

A quick look through the surgery windows showed there was nobody being operated on - Nomad wondered if maybe her luck was improving. She pushed the swinging doors open and began to search the room, picking up two scalpels - they'd be just as good as knives. Nomad missed the light weight of her ninja knife on her wrist.

She put her new Cobra uniform on over her wet and slightly bloodied pyjamas and tucked her makeshift weapons into her pockets - the scalpels and a pair of heavy scissors that were used for…well, she didn't know _what_ they were used for. She didn't really _want_ to know; that was Lifeline's job.

Despite her desperate situation, Nomad couldn't help but grin. She wondered what the pacifistic medic would say if he could see her now, arming herself. He'd probably have a fit, maybe say something about this equipment being used to _save_ lives, not take them.

But she was improvising. What else could she do? Nomad was pretty sure Lifeline would forgive her.

She had to move quickly. Once the doctor or one of the other nurses discovered the knocked out troops, the first thing they'd do would be to check her room. When they saw she was gone and the nurse was strapped to the bed in Nomad's place, the alarm would sound, and any chance of escape would be drastically reduced.

She pulled her red mask up over her nose and hurried out of the infirmary.

* * *

As she wandered around, looking for the way out, Nomad wondered vaguely what the Joes were doing. She'd been sitting in that dark room for three days, according to Andy. When she'd woken up in the infirmary yesterday, the doctor said he'd taken her there two days before. All up, that was six days she'd been on Cobra Island.

She wondered if she'd been reported missing from work. Tweedles Dum and Dee surely must've realised something was up when she didn't show. Hopefully Hammond had got in touch with Hawk…but could Hawk do anything? More to the point, _would_ he do anything? She'd resigned, after all; she wasn't part of the team anymore. She wasn't one of Hawk's soldiers.

But he _had_ said 'once a Joe, always a Joe'. That had to count for something. Right?

Nomad swore under her breath. Even if Hawk _did_ put together a rescue team, how would he know where to send it? Cobra could be holding her anywhere.

Nomad ducked down a side corridor as a pair of blue-suited troops headed her way. Once they were gone, she peered around the corner, then hurried onward.

There were a lot of doors and hallways on this floor. The doors had numbers on them; they were living quarters. So that meant all she had to do was follow the main hall and the elevator should be there. Or the stairs. Nomad didn't much like the idea of taking the stairs, though - it would hurt like hell, and take twice as long to get out.

She followed the wide corridor around a corner - and the first thing she saw was the welcome glow of the elevator buttons. She jabbed 'Down' repeatedly, and when the lift arrived she was in before the doors had even finished opening. She pressed the button for the first floor rather than the ground - she didn't want to walk straight out of the elevator into that big, foyer-like area. She'd take the stairs down and survey the room before attempting to cross it.

The elevator was slowing down. Dammit; she'd hoped to make the trip down without interruptions. Instead, the lift stopped at the fourth floor, and a Techno Viper stepped in. He gave her a quick nod; she returned it, then stared straight ahead at the doors, cursing mentally.

So much for her luck improving.

"You new?" the Viper asked suddenly, peering at her.

She nodded, trying to stay calm. Dammit, why did she always get the talkative ones?

"Thought so. Haven't seen you around before. What unit?"

"Uh -" She felt herself starting to sweat.

"Hey, are you okay?" The guy looked at her, concerned.

"I'm fine," she said, a little too quickly. She took a deep breath and tried a casual shrug. "Newbie nerves."

He chuckled. "Ah. Yeah, I remember when I first - Jesus, what the hell is that?"

"Huh?" Nomad followed his gaze to her stomach - where a small patch of dark maroon had appeared.

_Shit_. The bandage had soaked through already.

"Oh, god…you're the Joe!" He lunged for the emergency button.

Nomad snapped her hand around, one of the scalpels gripped tightly in her fist. The Viper ran straight into it - he didn't even have time to dodge as the razor sharp blade stuck deep into his windpipe. He started to splutter, and then blood began to pour. Nomad grabbed his hand as he flailed for the button, pushing him away. He slid down the wall and sprawled on the floor of the lift.

She took his helmet and held it in front of her, using it to cover the blood on her uniform.

The elevator doors pinged, and she slipped quietly out onto the first floor.

* * *

It didn't take long for somebody to find the Techno Viper's body in the elevator, the scalpel still lodged in his throat. The alarm had been sounding for the last three minutes.

Nomad was wearing the Viper's helmet now, eavesdropping on the chatter over the helmet's inbuilt headset. They'd discovered the unconscious Cobras in the infirmary and the nurse strapped to the bed in the private room. Now, everyone was on the lookout for Nomad.

Her chances of getting out weren't looking good.

"_Top floor is clear. No Joe in sight._"

"_Go down to the next. Flush her out._"

Nomad swore quietly. She needed to move - she shouldn't stay in one place for too long. There was probably a team sweeping the building from the bottom floor up, as well as the top. She'd be sandwiched between them if she didn't get going.

But where could she go? The elevators had been shut down. The Cobras would be guarding the stairwell. And she hadn't seen any fire escapes out the windows, either.

She could always _jump_ out a window…it might work. She filed that away in the back of her mind as a last resort; she didn't think jumping out a window would do her beaten up body much good.

If she could just get her hands on a _gun_…

The radio squawked again, making her jump. "_Ground floor, clear_. _Moving to first floor._"

Well…as the Joes were fond of saying, there was nothing else to do but try and 'brazen it out'. Nomad emerged from the storage room she'd hidden in. Anyway, it would be less suspicious if she was seen in the hallways than if she was found skulking around in a broom closet.

"Hey! Why aren't you helping with the search?"

Alarmed, Nomad turned, holding a hand to her belly. "Sir!" she exclaimed as the Crimson Guardsman emerged from the stairwell and approached, flanked by a lot - _a lot_ - of blue uniforms. Several troops headed off immediately down the corridors, fanning out to search for her, not realising she was right in front of them.

She almost laughed at their stupidity. Funny, what a mask and a helmet could do. "Sorry, sir, but…I saw the Joe, sir! She…she stabbed me with a scalpel and took off that way!" She pointed down the hall, away from the stairs.

The Siegie - it wasn't Andy, thank god - immediately turned. "You two stay and guard the door," he ordered the closest troops. "The rest of you, find that girl!"

The snakes scattered. The Siegie looked over his shoulder at Nomad. "Go to the infirmary and get patched up, then get back to your post."

"Yes, sir."

The Siegie took off after the others. Nomad held back a sigh of relief, then glanced at the guards standing to either side of the door. They'd have to let her pass so she could 'get to the infirmary'. Could it be as easy as this?

Ah, who was she kidding? Of _course_ it couldn't. One of the troops had stayed behind. "I can dress the wound here," he offered. "I'm an intern."

"You know, I'd rather go to the infirmary and get the doc -" Nomad started nervously.

"But we need all the help we can get!" the medic said. "This Joe's a mean bitch."

Oh. A mean bitch, was she? "Uh…I think I need stitches. I should really go -"

"Here, just let me take a look first." He reached out and pulled her hand away, looking at the dark maroon stain on her uniform.

Nomad saw the exact moment he realised there was no rip in her uniform where she was 'stabbed' - and she saw the next moment, when he looked into her eyes and realised who she was. "Oh, _shit_ -"

She thrust her knee up into his groin, grabbed his shirt and threw him out of her way, then sprinted for the door. The guards reached for her as she slammed into it and burst through - one snagged her sleeve. The uniform tore at the seam, but her feet flew out from under her as he yanked backwards. She went down hard, cracking her elbows and the back of her head on the concrete. It was a good thing she'd been wearing the helmet, otherwise her brains might've been oozing onto the floor rather than just bouncing around her skull. Dazed, she tried to roll to her knees, but a combat-booted foot planted itself firmly on her chest.

She heard the Cobra troop's voice in her stolen Viper helmet even as she heard him speaking from above her. "Search is over. Joe has been captured in the first floor stairwell. Repeat, Joe has been captured."

Nomad swore, then felt something dig into her leg.

The surgery scissors.

Without a second thought she yanked them out of her pocket and stabbed them into the Cobra's calf. He roared and stumbled away - Nomad flipped over and crawled for the stairs. Right now, she didn't care if she _rolled_ all the way down them, as long as she could get away -

But she'd forgotten about the second guard. He kicked her in the gut with a steel-capped boot, stepped over her and jammed the barrel of his rifle against her nose.

The gun was unnecessary; Nomad wasn't going anywhere. She curled up on the floor, holding her belly, almost blacked out in agony from the merciless kick. Blood pounded in her ears, making the sound of approaching, running footsteps seem to come from a distance.

Nomad closed her eyes as the backup arrived. Several more guns were pointed at her as the guard patted her down, removed the last scalpel from her pocket and dragged her to her feet.

A familiar figure in grey camouflage fatigues strode up the stairs and stopped in front of her. "I'll take it from here," Firefly said.

"But -" the guard started.

Firefly shot a dangerous look at the troop. "I'll make sure you get a pay rise."

"Thank you, sir. What about the Joe?"

Firefly smirked down at Nomad. "The Commander wants to see her."

Nomad froze. The Commander?

_Cobra_ Commander?

Well, fuck. This day just couldn't get any worse.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

Second last chapter! And I mean it this time - this was actually the first part of a longer chapter, but I cut it in half. :D The last flashback ended up longer than I thought it would.

In other news, my laptop died again. I learnt from last time, though...I backed up my files :D Now I've just gotta fork out a couple hundred bucks to get the hard drive fixed. Stupid computer...I've only had it six months.

Oh well. Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Well, Nomad was wrong. The day _could_ get worse.

Firefly yanked her to her feet, ignoring her sharp intake of breath. Nomad tried to wrench free of his grip, but he held tight, his fingers digging into the hollows of her collarbone as he spun her around and forced her to walk ahead of him. They passed the guard she'd stabbed in the leg - the intern was pressing his hands to the wound and speaking into his headset. He gave Nomad a foul look as she passed - she hoped she wouldn't get stuck with him if she was sent back to the infirmary.

Actually, she hoped she didn't get stuck with the nurse, either. Nomad had seen _Misery_. Read the book, too…

The alarm had been turned off. Firefly frogmarched Nomad to the elevator. The buttons were glowing again; power had been returned.

"You sure about this?" she asked with a smug grin. "Remember what happened _last_ time we got into a lift together?"

"Shut up."

The doors slid open. There was somebody already inside - a blue-clad troop with a bucket and a sponge. The water in the bucket was a muddy red colour; the troop had apparently just finished cleaning the Techno Viper's blood off the floor. He took one look at Nomad and Firefly and hurried out.

Firefly jabbed the button for the top floor, then shoved Nomad against the wall and pulled his gun, pressing it firmly to her right shoulder, as he had the other day. "Go on. Try something," he urged coldly.

"I think I'll pass," Nomad said, trying to keep her voice calm and not entirely succeeding.

Shit. She was all out of ideas; her last hope had been getting down those stairs and somehow out the door.

Not that she knew what she would've done if she _had_ got out….there'd have to be a boathouse around _somewhere_, right? She could've stolen a boat. Or she could've found the airstrip, maybe hijacked a plane or a chopper…

Yeah. And crashed it into the ocean and got eaten by sharks. Nomad definitely wasn't a pilot.

Maybe -

She must've moved slightly. Or perhaps Firefly just decided to shoot her for the hell of it. The sound of the .45 going off was thunderous in the enclosed space. Her own blood splattered her face. The round tore a bloody hole through her left shoulder, just below her collarbone, and thwacked into the wall. The bullet fragmented on impact; some of the shrapnel blew back and lodged in her shoulderblade. "_Aaaah!_"

She'd never been shot before. She'd been grazed by a bullet, back in Guatemala…but this was the first time she'd actually been really _shot_.

It wasn't as bad as she'd imagined it would be. Sure, it felt like her shoulder was on fire - but at least the round had gone straight through. There was no prolonged twisting of a blade; the bullet just went straight in and straight out. She could handle it.

"Nngh…son of a _bitch_!" she hissed through gritted teeth. "Dammit, if my tattoo's wrecked…"

Firefly held her up by the front of her uniform, glaring fiercely. She stared defiantly back, though she was pretty sure the tears in her eyes lessened the effect.

The doors opened. Firefly dragged Nomad out, past the two soldiers standing guard outside, and down a long hallway. Several doors opened off it, but they headed for the big set of double doors at the very end.

Firefly pushed them open and shoved Nomad inside.

She glanced around, desperately searching for a way out. It was a large, windowless room, lined with computer monitors all around the sides. Several Vipers and ordinary troops manned the consoles, with a couple of Siegies thrown in the mix. Apart from that, the room was empty, save for the…well, the only word Nomad could think of to describe it was 'throne'…at the far end. The backrest made into the shape of a Cobra with glowing red eyes, its hood fully extended, fangs gleaming.

Sitting on the throne, leaning to one side with his head resting on one hand as if he was bored, was a man in a blue uniform which was slightly fancier than the average Cobra troop's. A thin sword rested across his lap. Nomad couldn't see his face due to the featureless metal mask he wore.

Cobra Commander.

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.

Steeling herself, Nomad raised an eyebrow. "You've gotta be fucking joking." She sounded more confident than she felt. Good.

Firefly shook her roughly. "The Joe, Commander. She was found in the first floor stairwell."

Nomad pressed her hand to her wounded shoulder, swore at Firefly and looked warily at the head of the Cobra organisation. She could see her reflection in the mask, her eyes wider than she would have liked, her face extremely pale.

The Commander tilted his head to one side and sat up straighter. Nomad couldn't tell if he was looking at her or not - the mask was a little freaky. Freakier than Destro's.

…How did he _see_ out of it?

"So _you__'__re_ the Joe they call Nomad," Cobra Commander stated. His voice was harsh and cold. It _was_ actually quite snake-like…

"_Corporal_ Nomad," she retorted. "Look, Buckethead -"

The Commander nodded to Firefly. The saboteur punched her shoulder. Nomad, not expecting it, couldn't cut short her sharp cry of pain - some of the Cobras turned to look. A few of them chuckled.

Cobra Commander stood and slowly made his way down the few steps that led to the throne. He stopped when he was almost nose to mask with Nomad. He wasn't as tall as she'd thought he'd be, only an inch or two taller than she was - 5'10, maybe.

She could take him -

Firefly grabbed her left arm and twisted it behind her, forcing her hand up between her shoulderblades. Blood spurted from the ragged hole in her shoulder.

She winced. "Alright, _alright_!"

The Commander looked at her. At least, she thought he did. Then he spoke. "You've caused a lot of trouble," he said. His tone was unsettlingly conversational.

"My apologies," she retorted dryly.

Firefly pressed his thumb to one of the pieces of shrapnel in her back, driving it deeper.

"Son of a -" Nomad snarled, but the pain was good. It made her angry.

Cobra Commander gave a quiet, hissing laugh. "Yes…Andy was quite disappointed when I had him reassigned. He was sure he could make you talk eventually."

Nomad remained silent, staring straight ahead.

The Commander continued, raising a hand and rubbing a finger along the jaw line of the smooth mask, then turned to one of the Siegies. "Is Mindbender ready yet?"

The Siegie looked down as he spoke into his headset, paused, nodded and looked up. "Yes, Commander. He says to send the Joe down whenever you're ready."

"Good." The Commander tilted his head down to Nomad again. "I want the location of the Joe headquarters. You are going to give it to me."

"The hell I am," she spat. "Trust me, I _will_ die first."

The head snake chuckled. "If I'm not mistaken, you already have." His shoulders stopped shaking abruptly, and he grabbed her chin in a gloved hand. "Andy isn't my best interrogator, _Corporal_," he hissed. "And physical pain isn't the only effective method we have."

"Fuck yourself," she snarled. "Do your worst; I'm not gonna tell you _anything_."

Cobra Commander cocked his head to the side, let go of her face and stepped back. "Oh…I never said you had to _tell_ me. I said you were going to _give_ it to me."

Nomad narrowed her eyes, confused. "Huh?"

He ignored her, looking at Firefly over her head. "Take her to Mindbender. Tell him he has my permission to do whatever is necessary to extract the information from her."

Nomad didn't understand. "Wait," she said quickly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The Commander glanced down at her, and when he spoke, she could _hear_ him smiling maliciously. "It means you're going to give me what I want, whether you like it or not. And it's going to be very, _very_ painful."

He waved dismissively at Firefly, and the saboteur started to haul Nomad away. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out what Cobra Commander had meant.

Obviously, Dr. Mindbender had something to do with it. Something to do with extracting information -

Oh. Fuck.

Nomad stopped struggling against Firefly's firm grip. She felt the blood draining from her already white face.

The saboteur sniggered. "You know what's coming, don't you?" he asked.

Oh, she knew. It had taken a minute to realise, but Nomad knew.

They were going to put her in the brainwave scanner.

* * *

Nomad tried to escape. She dug her heels into the ground, she thrashed against Firefly's iron grip - but she couldn't break free. Her shoulder burned. It felt like she'd popped all the stitches holding her belly together. Her hands ached.

But she couldn't let them strap her into the brainwave scanner. She'd heard about it, of course. Nomad didn't quite understand how it worked - somehow, it recorded brainwave reactions to visual images shown on a monitor. Once it had recorded enough data, the process was reversed - questions were asked, and if you happened to even _think_ about the answer, it would appear on the screen. It had been used on Snake Eyes in this way - she'd read it in his Cobra files when she was at 'Robac and Co.'. In another capacity, the brainwave scanner had been used to brainwash both Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll.

She knew it hurt.

The problem was, after everything she'd been through, she didn't know if she'd be able to handle it. Whether she wanted to or not, she might actually give Cobra Commander the location of the Pit. The brainwave scanner wasn't something that could be blocked out.

Unless…

Hadn't there been something else she'd read in Snakes' files - something about him resisting the scanner? It had only been a brief note she'd seen while skimming the paragraph quickly; she hadn't wanted to pry into the ninja's past without his consent.

She wished she'd read it now. She was sure she'd seen _something_…

Firefly shoved her through a door into another room. This one was small, with a tiled floor and brightly lit with fluorescent lights. There was a large screen in the middle of the wall opposite the door, a control panel underneath it. Right in the centre of the room was a large…well, it _looked_ like a huge metal armchair. It had a heavy base that was securely fastened to the floor. The back was high. Above it was something that looked a little like a halo tipped vertically; a circular piece of equipment that had a gap at the bottom where somebody's head would rest if they were sitting in the chair. The halo would surround their head.

Nomad swallowed nervously, and she found herself pressing back against Firefly. He shoved her forward relentlessly, toward the man who was standing in front of the control panel, his back to them, shoulders hunched and his bald head bowed.

He was wearing a cape. He was actually wearing a damn _cape_.

The man turned as Firefly and Nomad drew closer. His monocle flashed eerily in the light.

Mindbender studied Nomad for a long time, looking her up and down, taking in her bloodied Cobra uniform.

"Why don't you take a goddamn photo?" she snapped. "Fucking cape-wearing creep."

Mindbender's eyebrows raised, but he ignored her, glancing up at Firefly. "Nobody told me she was in such a poor condition," he said irritably.

Firefly shrugged. "Is it a problem?"

"The brainwave scanner is a particularly…intense…experience. It may be too much for her in her present state. Perhaps we should wait until -"

"Cobra Commander wants her in the scanner _now_," Firefly pointed out. "If she's in such a weak condition, it shouldn't take too long to get what we want, should it?

"That's true…but if she dies?"

Firefly scowled at the doctor. "Well, you make sure you get the location of Joe headquarters before she does. And…if she just happens to die _after_, I'll have a couple of troops take the body to the incinerator."

The cold, calm way he said it made Nomad pretty certain that she was going to die as soon as they'd got whatever they wanted from her. Firefly was going to make sure of it. She took several long, deep breaths, trying to stay calm. It felt like her whole body was shaking, her heart was pounding so hard.

Mindbender shrugged dismissively and gestured to the brainwave scanner. "In that case, everything is set up," he told Firefly. "Shall we begin?"

The saboteur started to drag Nomad toward the chair.

"Wait - no…no, _no_!"

He slammed her hard against the backrest and held her as Mindbender fastened the steel cuffs over her forearms and shins. He then adjusted the halo so that it fitted snugly around her head, the ends right beside her ears. She tried to jerk her head away, but the only thing she could do was tip forward, and with her arms and legs cuffed in place, she couldn't go very far.

Mindbender flicked a switch on the control panel, and a jolt of electricity zapped her.

"Don't move," he advised.

Nomad ignored him. Maybe she could -

Mindbender zapped her again. This time, the shock was stronger.

Nomad froze.

"Much better," Mindbender said cheerfully. He turned to Firefly. "You can go now. Tell the Commander I'll let him know when the first phase is complete."

Firefly scowled. "I'm not your fucking secretary, Mindbender," he said as he strode out of Nomad's line of sight.

In any other situation, Nomad would have laughed at the face Mindbender childishly pulled at the saboteur's back.

"Now…Corporal Nomad," the doctor said lightly as he did something at the console. "Let us begin -"

"Wait," she said quickly.

He turned to her, surprised.

"How does this thing work?" she asked. "Don't I even get the basics before you start?"

Mindbender opened his mouth to say something, and then he stopped. He raised a finger and wagged it at her. "Oh, no. I've heard you're good at stalling. No…we begin now."

He reached over and pressed another button on the control panel.

It felt like somebody was performing surgery on her brain while she was still awake. It wasn't like anything she'd ever felt before - physical pain was one thing, but this? This was like the brood mother of all migraines. It felt like knives stabbing into her mind. Thousands of images flashed through her head; through the white-hot agony, she realised that the scanner was recording her…well, her thoughts. She tried to make her mind go blank, but couldn't - it made it hurt more. Tears streamed from her eyes. She vaguely realised she was screaming, but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't stop.

Mindbender stood to the side, watching her, his fingers twirling one end of his moustache. "Well, Corporal," he said eventually, leaning close to her, "I'll leave you to it. I'll be back soon."

And with that, he left the room. Nomad heard the door slam shut behind him, and then she was alone, screaming to an empty room as the images in her head just kept on coming.

* * *

It probably only took the better part of an hour, but it felt like days. When Mindbender came back, Nomad's throat was raw. Her eyes stung. Her vision was blurry. She could barely hold her head up when Mindbender stopped the device. She was shaking all over. She retched, bringing up a thin trickle of clear liquid which dribbled down her front.

"Phase One is complete, Commander," Mindbender said, looking at somebody standing behind the brainwave scanner. "All we need to do is reverse the process. You can start asking questions now."

A blue-suited figure stepped in front of Nomad. She lifted her head slightly to see Cobra Commander - now wearing a blue hood instead of his metal mask - looking down at her. She could see his eyes through the holes cut in the hood - they were dark and glinting and dangerous.

"Corporal Nomad," he said quietly. "You can stop this right here. You don't need to hurt anymore. All you have to do is think about the G.I Joe headquarters."

She managed a weak glare, but then her eyes widened and she shook her head in horror as the screen mounted on the wall before the scanner flashed on, and an image of the mess hall appeared. It was always the first thing that came to mind when she thought of the Pit - the mess hall, where everyone got together after a long day of training to eat and talk and relax. It was probably her favourite place in the whole complex, followed closely by the rec room.

"Very good," Cobra Commander said, patting her on her good shoulder. "_Very_ good. Well done, Corporal. Now, the _location_."

The obstacle course. Beachhead was stalking around it like a grizzly bear, shouting at…yes, that was Shipwreck, slacking off again. Nomad shook her head, willing the thought away. The screen went blank.

"Perhaps we should begin with something a little more subtle," Mindbender suggested. "Think of your friends. Where are they? What are they doing?"

Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll in the garage, the surfer dude holding her as Clutch tried to smear grease on her face like warpaint. Covergirl in the heavy equipment level, washing mud off the Mauler then pointing the hose at an unsuspecting Steeler. Flint and Lady Jaye killing playing zombie videogames in the rec room, loudly keeping score of headshots. Sci-Fi - or rather, the red dot of Sci-Fi's laser sight playing over her in a night-time session on the firing range.

Lowlight as he popped his head over the trench, taking the laser gunner out with one well aimed shot from his paintball-loaded sniper rifle, then pressing Nomad hard against the trench wall and kissing her, his hands sliding down her sides until he suddenly picked her up, his hands under her thighs, and -

No. _No._ They didn't get to see that. Nomad thought of something else, gritting her teeth against the sudden flare of pain behind her eyes.

_"__This is Dynamite. Do you read me, Goldilocks?__"_

_"__Loud and clear, Dynamite, we__'__ll be in visual range in five__…__four__…__three__…__two__…__ta-daa!__"_

Cobra Commander's head snapped around. "What the hell is that?"

Mindbender stared at the image on the screen - a convoy emerging from a jungle, three armoured jeeps and a tank, seen from beneath a corner of a camouflaged net. He tapped a few more buttons on the console, checking the readouts. "She seems to be trying to resist the scanner."

_Yes_. That was it! Snakes had resisted the scanner by thinking of memories - strongly emotional ones, like the accident that had scarred his face.

Nomad had plenty of strongly emotional memories.

"Well, stop her!" the Commander said, thumping the back of the brainwave scanner with his fist.

Mindbender flicked the switch on the control panel. Nomad arched her back and clenched her fists against the electric shock running through her. When it stopped, she slumped forward, breathing heavily.

The Commander grabbed her face tightly, squeezing her cheeks and making her lips purse stupidly. "Joe headquarters. Where. Are. The Joes."

She caught a brief glimpse of Hawk on the screen, sitting at his desk. The line of sight changed, and Nomad's own hand appeared, holding a pen. She signed her name on several pages; it was the day she'd signed her retirement papers.

And then Goldilocks took up the screen again, towering over her, smiling and saluting.

Cobra Commander made an impatient noise and waved a hand at Mindbender. "Keep working on it. Let me know immediately when you get somewhere."

"Of course, Commander."

She heard the door close. Mindbender turned to her. "Now, Corporal. Are you ready to cooperate?"

Nomad scoffed weakly. "Fuck no."

* * *

Dynamite straightened her uniform for what seemed like the hundredth time in ten minutes, staring apprehensively at the doors leading into the courtroom in one of the lower levels of the Pentagon. She smoothed back her dark hair, making sure no loose strands of hair had fallen from the bun.

"Stop it," Archer said. "The panel's already made their decision; how you look isn't gonna change it."

She sighed. "I know," she admitted. "I'm just…you know…"

"Nervous?" Archer gave her a sympathetic look and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Don't worry."

She looked up at the big, rough-looking man. As always, he looked like he was about to burst out of his dress uniform. She was grateful to him. He'd barely left her side throughout all the legal proceedings. "Uh…look, Archer…thanks for -"

He waved her off. "Don't start. They were _my_ buddies, too."

"I know, but still -"

"Aw, hell, 'Mite. You didn't really think I was gonna let you go through this on your own, did you?"

She shrugged self-consciously.

"And here I was, thinking you knew me better than that." He grinned down at her. "Well…you ready for this?"

Dynamite took a deep breath. "No. But…let's go. The sooner we get it over with, the better."

"Right."

With one hand on the small of her back, Archer guided Dynamite into the courtroom.

Goldilocks and his lawyer, Sam, were already in there. Goldilocks looked calm and collected - almost relaxed. He looked up as Archer, Dynamite and her own lawyer, Adams, filed in and took their seats. Goldilocks smiled smugly at Dynamite. It took everything she had - and Archer's bulk stepping quickly between them - to keep from launching herself at him.

At the side of the room, the panel of generals acting as the jury were seated, watching silently. They still made her nervous. Some of them wore mirrored glasses, making them seem all the more impersonal. It was like the case, or she herself, wasn't important enough for them to bother with.

Archer squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Adams gave her a thin smile.

Everyone stood as the judge walked into the courtroom. They got the formalities out of the way, and then the judge got straight to the point. "General Crowther, I understand the jury has made its decision?"

A stout man with a moustache stood up. "We have, your honour."

"Let's hear it."

Dynamite sat up straighter. Her fingertips brushed the sleeve of Archer's uniform; he covered her hand with his own.

Crowther looked down at them all from the stand - it was higher than the desks at which Dynamite and Goldilocks sat. "Your Honour, we - the jury - spent a lot of time deliberating this case. As you know, it's not just a simple matter of guilty or not guilty. There are many more outstanding factors."

"Oh, I don't believe this…" Adams muttered.

Dynamite turned, worried. "What? What's wrong?"

"There will be silence when the General is speaking, Corporal," the judge said.

"Sorry, Your Honour," she said, still watching Adams. The lawyer was shaking his head.

Not reassuring.

The General - Crowther, the judge had called him - shot Dynamite a quick look, then fixed his gaze on Goldilocks. "It's clear to the jury that the General _is_ indeed guilty of abandoning his post during the alleged events the Corporal described. His claims that he was laying low, deep in enemy territory, cannot be confirmed or disproved."

Archer squeezed Dynamite's hand.

"However," Crowther continued, "the Corporal's story _also_ cannot be confirmed."

Dynamite leaped to her feet, shaking off Archer's and Adams' hands as they tugged on her jacket. "What? How can -"

The judge glared at her. "Must I have you removed from this courtroom?" he asked harshly.

"But…Your Honour…"

The look the judge gave Dynamite made her sit down. "For the Corporal's sake, Crowther, would you please elaborate?"

Crowther nodded and looked coldly at Dynamite. "You claim that this man killed the rest of the team sent in to extract you."

He was waiting for an answer. "Yes, sir," she said, nervous at being addressed directly.

"But we have only your word, which may be compromised."

"I don't understand," she said, trying to keep her tone respectful. Her heart was sinking lower with each word Crowther said. "Compromised how? Sir?"

"Illness. Fatigue. Fear. Shock. Any of those factors could have had an influence on you; caused you to see something that didn't really happen."

"'Didn't really happen'?" she repeated in disbelief. Her voice rose. "What'd I do, carve my fucking guts up myself?"

Adams stood up. "Your Honour -" he protested.

"Sit down, Adams. You too, Corporal!"

"No! I want -"

"Corporal. _Sit_. _Down_."

Archer pulled a seething Dynamite back into her seat and took a firm grip on her elbow, as if he expected her to do something stupid.

It was highly possible.

"Crowther, the official verdict?" the judge pressed.

"The jury has found the General guilty of treason, Your Honour."

Adams slumped forward, his head in his hands. The judge sat back in his seat, eyeing Goldilocks. "As you know, General, treason carries a heavy sentence. Usually, punishment would be death by lethal injection. However, given your excellent service records and the ambiguity of your circumstances, you are sentenced to seven years in the maximum security ward of Fort Leavenworth."

"Your Honour -" Adams tried again.

"This case is dismissed." The judge slammed his gavel down once on the stand, then left the room without another word - as if he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Dynamite looked up at Archer, confused - and angry - as all hell. "I don't get it…how can…seven _years_? That's _all_? He -"

Archer hushed her. "Come on, kiddo, let's get out of here."

"But -"

"Dynamite," he said, his voice firm. "Now."

She nodded and allowed him to walk her from the courtroom, Adams following behind.

None of them said a word until they were standing outside the Pentagon. Dynamite paced angrily back and forth, her shock and confusion now replaced by one powerful emotion: rage.

"That…_thing_…killed four good men!" she snarled, rounding on Archer. "How can they - how can he - god _damn_ it!"

Archer allowed her to vent. Adams was poring through his briefcase.

"He left me for dead! He cut me up and just _left_ me there to die! How can they say -" Dynamite shook her head and gave a short, frustrated scream.

She should've killed him. Should've shot him when she had the chance.

No. That'd make her no better than he was.

But still…

"What the matter, Dynamite?" a quiet, self-satisfied voice asked.

She glanced up to see Goldilocks standing not far away, in handcuffs, accompanied by several military police officers. "You son of a fucking bitch, I'll _kill_ -"

Archer grabbed her arms and shoved her roughly behind him, glaring at her. "Shut up, 'Mite." He then turned a deadly look on Goldilocks. "I don't know how you did it. How many favours did you call in? Anyone else would be looking out for a syringe, but not you…"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Captain, but maybe you should lower your voice," Goldilocks said. "People might start thinking you're a little paranoid."

Archer ignored the jab. "If you last long enough in Leavenworth to get out, you'd better hope we don't run into each other."

"Are you threatening me?" Goldilocks asked, glancing at the MPs. They eyed both the big men off warily.

"No. I'm just making a point," Archer said. "You're a traitor to your country. Whether it's in Leavenworth or not, you'll get what's coming to you."

"Sure. Well, until then…" Goldilocks smiled disarmingly at Dynamite. "I'll think of you every day. Poor Dynamite…those months in the Amazon must've really scrambled your brain."

Adams wasn't quite quick enough to grab her as she sprinted forward past Archer and lunged at her old CO.

"Dynamite, stand down!" Archer shouted.

She didn't get anywhere near Goldilocks. The MPs snapped into action, one of them throwing his arm out and catching her across the throat. A couple of them drew their handguns, but the one who'd clotheslined her already had her pinned to the ground, a knee in the middle of her back.

"All of you, stand down!" Archer ordered, striding forward. He glanced at the three MPs closest to Goldilocks and gestured to the armoured car waiting to drive him to the maximum security section of the military prison, Fort Leavenworth. "Get him out of here." He then dragged the man off Dynamite. "Get off. And put those damn guns away!" he snapped at the remaining two.

They did as he said, and he yanked Dynamite to her feet by her jacket. "You, get in the car. _Now_."

"Archer -"

"Don't _make_ me say it again, Corporal."

She knew better than to argue with that tone. Adams went with her to the car that was waiting to take them back to base.

"I won't press charges, Dynamite," Goldilocks called after her. "You've been through enough already."

"Ignore him…just ignore him. He's not worth it," Adams chanted quietly as he opened the door for her.

Archer joined them after a few minutes - once he'd cleared things with the MPs and Sam the lawyer. The car sank slightly as he got in, glaring angrily at Dynamite. "What the _fuck_ was that?"

Dynamite glanced at him. "You heard what he -"

"I don't _care_ what he said!" Archer snapped. "You know better!"

"But -"

He shook his head. "I don't wanna hear it. He _could__'__ve _ pressed charges. You're just damn lucky he's such an arrogant asshole."

She opened her mouth.

"No," he said, raising a hand. "That's enough."

The car started to roll. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Archer and Dynamite in the back seats, Adams up front with the driver.

"So that's it," Dynamite said flatly. "He goes away for seven years, and then what?"

Adams cleared his throat, turning in his seat. "Well…he's dishonourably discharged from the military. So he won't be signing up again. You know, we could appeal the sentence -"

Dynamite scoffed. "Why bother? You heard that guy, Crowther." She shook her head. "No…I'm done. I can't do that again."

Archer shifted in his seat, glanced at her briefly. He looked like he was about to say something, but apparently changed his mind.

"Are you sure?" Adams pressed.

She nodded. "There's no point. It's my word against his. It'd just be a repeat of today."

"Well…at least think about it?"

Dynamite knew she wouldn't, but she nodded anyway. "Yeah. Okay."

Archer nudged her. "Look…it's not what we wanted, but it's better than nothing," he pointed out. "Seven years in Leavenworth is a long time - it's not an easy place to get by in."

Dynamite looked at her hands.

"Anyway, let's go home," Archer said. "I'll -"

"It's not my home," she said softly, taking both Archer and herself by surprise.

"What?"

She sighed and looked across at him. "It's not my home," she repeated. "Not anymore. I resigned, remember? I have two days left."

"Dynamite -"

She cringed at the name. Suddenly, all it did was remind her of everything that had happened in the last year; everything she'd lost, everything that had gone wrong. She'd been given her name by the guys back in basic training; Dynamite, because she met every challenge given to her head on and blasted through it as quickly and efficiently as she could. Matches had been given his nickname because he was always teasing her, getting her fired up.

Dynamite and Matches.

Without matches, dynamite was useless.

Well…she was resigning. Changing jobs. Maybe it was time to change names, make a completely new start.

"I'm not gonna be called Dynamite anymore," she stated.

Archer looked at her. "But…'Mite, come on…"

She shook her head. "No. I can't. It's…I just can't."

"So, what? Just like that, you're gonna choose a new name?"

She glanced up at him. "Actually…I was kind of hoping maybe you'd choose one for me."

"Dyna -"

She gave him a small smile. "Please?"

Archer sighed. "Alright. How about PIA?"

She frowned. "What's that mean?"

"Pain in the ass. Because you _know_ that's what you are, right?"

Despite herself, she giggled. She'd have to remember that one. "I don't think so."

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd go for it." Archer's brow furrowed and he studied her.

He was silent for a long, long time - in fact, they were back at the base when he spoke again. Adams had headed off for his office. Archer was sitting at the small table in her room; he hadn't wanted to leave her alone just yet. "Alright, I think I've got one."

She looked up expectantly.

"I remember saying something to you, back when you were stuck in your wheelchair in hospital. Something about you having the 'itchiest feet of anyone I've ever known'."

She nodded. She remembered that, too.

He smiled at her. "I _know_ you hate being in one place for too long. So I realise how hard it was for you, being in that chair. But I saw how hard you were trying to get out of it - all those therapy sessions I was there, and I couldn't get over how hard you were trying. I know guys twice your age and size who would've just given up in a situation like that…but you were determined to get out, to be able to _move_ without having to depend on anyone."

She felt herself blushing. "Archer, get on with it," she mumbled. Tears had sprung to her eyes. She blinked them away, but she was pretty sure Archer noticed.

If he did, though, he didn't let on. "I know you pretty well, kiddo. Like one of my own kids. So, with all that in mind…how do you like the sound of 'Nomad'?"

"Nomad." She rolled it around her mind. Nomad; a wanderer, somebody who moves from place to place depending on their circumstances.

It was fitting.

She looked up at Archer and smiled. "I like it," she decided.

"Then Nomad you are."

* * *

"This's _borin__'_," Torch grumbled, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen. "I wanna see those guys' heads get blown off again! That was _good_!"

Buzzer chuckled. "Torch, you are a truly depraved individual."

"What? Say that to me face, mate!"

"…Idiot…"

Nomad could barely keep her eyes open. Her breath rasped in her throat. Her head lolled forward; she was using all the strength she had to resist the brainwave scanner. She didn't know how many times she relived the deaths of her friends, her rehabilitation, the court-martial, plus several newer memories - Lowlight getting shot, the day she'd told him they were through…the dark room…Andy.

She didn't know it, but she'd been sitting in the brainwave scanner for three hours. She was close to exhaustion.

Actually…it felt like she was close to death. Again. It was almost a relief.

Still…she wished she could've seen Lowlight again.

Unbidden, the memory of their first night together - in the hotel - appeared on the screen. Torch and Ripper - who was still on crutches after she'd smashed his knee in the elevator - started catcalling and whistling.

She lifted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes. "No…" she breathed.

"What?" Buzzer asked. "What was that?"

Nomad sat up as straight as she could. "You don't…get to see…that."

"Aw, why not?" Ripper asked.

The screen went black as Nomad clenched her teeth and focused on Goldilocks once more.

The spike of pain that shot through her head was too much. She greyed out.

"I reckon she's done for!"

"Quick, go find Mindbender."

"Why _me_?"

_Thump_.

"Alright, _alright_, I'm goin'!"

* * *

"No, Commander, we are still in the development process. Rest assured, Cobra will receive the first shipment of missiles. For a reasonable price, naturally."

Nomad recognised the accented voice: it was Destro. But what was he talking about? Missiles?

"I've already waited months for this, Destro. You said once you had the formula -"

"The _formula_ isn't the problem, Commander. The _components_ are. They require extremely -"

Formula? Nomad's groggy mind ticked. The only formula she knew for sure that Cobra had was…

The neurotoxin.

They thought she was still out cold.

Perfect.

"How long?" Cobra Commander's voice asked.

"At least three more months."

"Three _months_?"

Nomad jumped slightly as something thumped close to her head - probably the Commander hitting whatever she was sitting on.

"Commander, it takes time to develop a weapon like this. To devise a missile capable of containing a neurotoxin and then actually _dispersing_ the toxin effectively, and relatively inconspicuously, is -"

"Fine. Don't bore me with the details, just get on with it."

A neurotoxin missile. That could -

God…just _one_ of those could wipe out millions.

Nomad had to get out of here. She stirred slightly, groaning a little more weakly than necessary, and opened her one good eye slightly.

Cobra Commander and Destro stood before the brainwave scanner that she was still strapped into. Dr. Mindbender stood behind them, at the control panel. The monitor was switched off.

She had to get out of the scanner. That was her first priority. "Please," she begged. Her voice was whisper quiet. "No more."

The Commander leaned forward. "Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?"

Nomad nodded once. "I'll tell you…please…just let me rest. And…water. Please. I'll tell you anything you want. Please."

She sounded pathetic, even to herself. But it worked - Cobra Commander gestured for Mindbender to release her.

"Commander, I'm not sure -"

"Shut up, Destro. Look at her; what could she do? She's half-dead."

Oh yeah? That's what you think, psycho.

Mindbender pulled her out of the brainwave scanner - and she dropped to the floor. It wasn't an act - her legs had actually buckled beneath her.

"You two," the Commander called. Nomad - now able to see behind the brainwave scanner to the two blue-clad troops at the door - pushed herself shakily to her knees. "Take her to a cell. Give her food and water and see to it that her injuries are tended to." He glanced down at her, narrowing his eyes. "And if you don't hold up your end of the bargain…"

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Just…please, don't put me in that thing again."

The two troops grabbed her by the arms and half-carried, half-dragged her out of the room. The snake on the right eyed her warily, as if he expected her to do something. She wanted to. Nomad wanted to make a break for it, but she knew she wouldn't get far. Better to wait until she could get some rest in her cell; get some water into her, maybe a little food, if her captors actually brought her some.

The troop on the left, however…he made her uneasy. He gripped her upper arm firmly and stared straight ahead. He was obviously confident that he could handle anything she tried.

There was something about him…something about the way he carried himself. It reminded her of -

No way.

Could he…?

Nomad pretended to stumble over her own feet. The guy on the left dropped her arm and immediately went for his gun. The troop on the right caught her and yanked her up roughly - but not before his intense dark eyes met hers.

He winked.

It was all Nomad could do to keep herself from grinning.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

And...here it is! The last chapter! Oh, I'm so sad that it's finished!

Well...there might be an epilogue, but I have to play around and see if maybe it wouldn't work better as a prologue for the next one. Because there's definitely a next one. I'm too attached to Nomad to just let her go now. Sounds stupid, doesn't it? But I love her, she's actually - in my mind - the best character I've ever written. And I think there's still room for her to develop. Hell, I can find room, dammit! :P

Thanks to everyone who stuck with this story all the way. To everyone who read it, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And to everyone who reviewed and PM'd, you have no idea how much your encouragement and advice helped. I know I've said it before, but I just said it again. :D

And so...here's the last chapter of Shadows. I hope it doesn't disappoint!

* * *

Nomad gave a sharp cry of pain as she was thrown unceremoniously to the floor, landing hard on her hands and knees in the small, concrete-walled cell. The only differences between this one and the one she'd woken up in on her first day on Cobra Island was that there was a small bunk with a thin, lumpy mattress bolted to the wall rather than a chain, and there was a toilet in the opposite corner.

This must be the deluxe cell. She cowered by the end of the bunk, her back to the wall, curling herself up as much as her wounds would allow.

"Give me the key and go find the doc. Then go get the food and water."

Nomad looked up at the dark-eyed man as he stood over her, glaring down. His sharp gaze roamed over her even as he spoke to the other troop.

Might as well sell it as best she could. She widened her eyes and shook her head quickly. "No...don't leave me with -"

She broke off, cringing away as the dark-eyed man drew his foot back. "Shut up!"

"What do you want the key -" the other troop started.

"I've lost a lot of buddies to the Joes," the dark-eyed man said. "I want some time with this one. Alone."

"I don't know…the Commander won't like it if he finds out," the other troop said nervously.

The dark-eyed man turned. "Well then, he won't find out. _Will_ he?"

The troop cracked under the fierce stare. "N-no sir." He fumbled with the cell key, tossed it over and spun toward the door.

"And just ignore anything you might hear," the dark-eyed man said menacingly.

"Uh…yes, sir." The troop practically bolted out of the small, bare cell, slamming the door behind him. The dark-eyed man locked the door as he peered out the small Plexiglas window set at eye level. Apparently satisfied the other troop had gone, he pocketed the key, then rounded on Nomad.

Her heart was racing. What if she was wrong? What if it wasn't -

But it was.

"You know, I might have to start charging you a rescue fee," Storm Shadow said, ripping off his red Cobra mask and quickly kneeling beside her, inspecting her wounded shoulder.

Nomad uncurled herself, wincing. "Never thought I'd say this," she croaked, her throat rasping painfully, "but…I have the sudden urge to hug you."

"I'll take a raincheck on that." Storm gave her a small, concerned smile, then took in the rest of the damage. He swore (or she assumed he was swearing) in rapid Japanese as he pulled aside her bloodstained Cobra uniform and saw exactly what had been done.

"That's what I said," she replied dryly.

"I doubt it," he answered distractedly. "You just can't catch a break, can you?"

Despite herself, she grinned. It hurt…and in any case, it probably wasn't the best look with her cracked lips, puffy left eye and generally bruised-all-over face. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Lucky for you." The ninja returned the grin. "You can rest now. The doctor's on his way to patch you up, and that other guy's gonna bring water and food. Try to eat a little bit, get some strength back."

"What? But…can't we just go now?" she pleaded, looking at the ninja. "Please?"

He shook his head. "Not just yet. I know you want to, but I doubt you'll get far without -"

Nomad glared at him indignantly. "This is nothing! I've -"

Storm held a hand up. "I know what you've done," he said firmly. "But back then you didn't have to worry about escaping a heavily manned facility on top of everything else. Right?"

She hated to admit it, but he had a point. Nomad nodded reluctantly, sniffing and leaning her head back against the wall wearily. "Storm…I wanna get out of here."

"We're going to get you out soon," he reassured, offering his hands, helping her up and onto the bunk. "Don't worry."

His voice was quiet and - she wasn't used to hearing him sound like this - soothing. He was going to look out for her. Nomad's eyes started to close.

And then they shot wide open again, and she struggled to sit up. "Storm - the neurotoxin -"

"I know," he said quietly, nodding and forcing her down. "I heard it all."

"You have to go," she insisted, trying to push him away with her broken hands. "Forget about me, go tell Hawk!"

Storm Shadow shook his head and grabbed her wrists gingerly, placing them by her sides. "I have my orders, and unlike _some_ people I could name -" he smiled at her, eyes mischievous, "I'm not going to question them. We're getting you out of here. You just need to get some rest, first." He gave her another critical look over. "Think you can hold out a little bit longer?"

She gave a nod. "You bet I can," she said. "Storm…thanks."

"Yeah," he replied. "You owe me two, now. I think I'll make it fifty bucks per rescue…" He paused, tilting his head to one side, and then he leaned down close to Nomad, his clenched fists either side of her head. "That's right, bitch!" he snarled without warning, suddenly pummelling the mattress.

She cringed away from him instinctively. "Wha -"

Storm tipped his head to the door.

"Oh," she mouthed, nodding and relaxing - well, relaxing as much as she could with an angry-seeming ninja leaning over her. Storm's unnaturally good ears had heard someone outside - right on cue, somebody pounded on the door. Nomad caught a glimpse of alarmed eyes looking in through the small window.

"Get some sleep. I'll be just outside, 'guarding' the door," Storm whispered, giving the mattress one last hard punch.

"What's going on in there? Open the door!"

Storm pulled his red mask up over his nose, crossed the cell in three strides and unlocked the door.

The doctor - it wasn't Mindbender, thank god, but the doctor who'd rescued her from Andy - rushed in, a medical kit in his hand, glaring at the ninja. "If you've touched -"

"Hah. Relax," Storm said. His voice was now cold and measured enough to make Nomad shiver involuntarily. "She's not worth the effort."

"Then get out," the doctor retorted harshly.

Nomad was a little impressed. The man had guts - or at least, no sense of self-preservation. Even in disguise, Storm Shadow had a…presence…about him that said he was not to be messed with, and the doctor had just kicked him out of the cell without a second thought. Brave man.

Storm threw a mocking salute and sauntered out into the corridor, locking the door behind him.

The doctor turned his attention to Nomad. "Christ…look at you," he muttered, drawing a syringe from the kit.

Nomad glanced at it fearfully. Needles meant bad things.

"Don't worry, it's just to dull the pain," the doctor said reassuringly. "It's okay…just calm down…"

She let him jab her in the arm, and, as he went to work, she closed her eyes.

It was okay. Storm was here. They -

Hang on.

The ninja had said, 'We're going to get you out of here.'.

Not 'I'. '_We_'.

Storm Shadow wasn't the only Joe on the island.

Her friends had come to get her.

* * *

A few minutes after the doctor got there, the second troop stuck his head in the door and walked in, placing a tray on the floor beside the bunk. On the tray was a glass, a jug of water, a couple of slices of bread and a bowl of soup. Fittingly - or perhaps perversely - it smelled like chicken soup.

The doctor finished wrapping a bandage tightly around her gauze-packed shoulder. Nomad immediately leaned over, grabbed the jug and drank straight out of it, ignoring the glass. She didn't care if she threw up: she drank half the jug in one go. It was cold, and it felt like heaven as it went down her dry, raw throat.

Nomad swore she'd never take water for granted again.

"Take it easy," the doctor warned.

Nomad looked up at him, thought about telling him where he could stick it, then decided against it. He'd only ever been kind to her…probably kinder than he strictly had to be, being a Cobra.

She put the jug down and went for the soup, dunking chunks of the bread in and stuffing them into her mouth. She wasn't actually all that hungry, but she figured she'd need the strength a full stomach would give her for the escape attempt. She stopped halfway through, though, beginning to feel a little nauseous.

Roadblock made a killer chicken soup. She hoped he was here, with his .50 cal Browning machine gun. Now _that_ would be a welcome sight…

"Alright now, let me get back to work," the doctor said, gesturing for her to lie back.

Without protest, Nomad obliged. Despite her many injuries, she was feeling better - probably because now she knew that she wasn't alone. Stormy was so close; just outside the cell. And there were other Joes around, somewhere…just waiting for a chance to bust her out.

Nomad wondered if Lowlight had come. She doubted it. He hadn't even gone to see her off at the bus stop - she'd hardly heard anything from him since. No text messages, nothing. Only Covergirl, in one of her many long phone calls, had mentioned him; she'd said he was okay, but that he'd taken to moping around by himself in the rec room again. Like he used to, before Nomad joined the Joes. Nomad wasn't surprised. The sniper liked being on his own.

Still…it'd be nice if he'd come on this mission…

As she closed her eyes and started to drift off, something _else_ occurred to her. Any other time, she would have been _afraid_ for the team here to get her; afraid that they'd end up like her old unit. But not now. Now, she was just grateful that she had people who cared enough to come after her. People who cared about her as much as Spider, Hotshot, Skipper and Matches had.

Did that make her selfish? Nomad didn't know, and at the moment she didn't really care. She could ask Psyche Out later, when she got home.

…Now there was a word she hadn't used for a long time: home.

The Pit.

Psyche Out would later call this 'One hell of a major breakthrough!'.

* * *

A deep, throbbing ache in her shoulder woke her up. Once again she didn't know how long she'd been asleep but, pain aside, she felt pretty well-rested. Actually, she felt more awake than she had since being on Cobra Island.

That was a good sign.

Nomad tried to sit up, but something pulled at her stomach. Wincing, she stopped moving, lifting only her head and pulling the Cobra uniform - stiff with blood - aside to check. There was a fresh bandage around her midsection, wrapped tightly. The doctor must've stitched her up again.

She tentatively rolled sideways, not wanting to bust open her wounds again. At least, not until there was good reason to. Like, say, an escape attempt.

Nomad wondered what Storm Shadow and the rest - whoever else was here - had in mind. Whatever it was, she probably wouldn't be much help to them, not with her broken fingers and screwed left shoulder. She _might_ be able to somehow hold a gun in her right hand, balance it with her left wrist and pull the trigger with her unbroken middle finger…but her aim probably wouldn't be very good. She definitely wouldn't be throwing any punches.

Nomad crossed to the cell door and peered out of the Plexiglas window. There was a long corridor outside; her cell was at the very end. More doors lined the walls; most likely other cells. Outside hers, she could see the backs of two blue-helmeted heads. She kicked the door to get their attention.

Storm Shadow turned first. He glanced sideways at the other troop and said something that Nomad was pretty sure she was glad she couldn't hear. Then he gestured for her to back away. She did so, and then she heard the key in the lock.

Storm pushed the door open. "What?" he asked irritably.

She needed to talk to him alone. "I'm thirsty," she said.

He made a show of sighing impatiently, then turned to the other troop. "Go get the _princess_ a drink," he ordered.

"But I -"

Storm glared.

"Right away, sir."

Storm watched until the troop was out of sight, then turned back to Nomad. "You slept for a day," he said, answering her question before she asked it. "The Commander's starting to get impatient. He'll send someone to get you once he hears you're awake."

Nomad blanched. "I have to get outta here, Storm," she said. "I told him I'd tell him everything -"

"You won't do that."

She rolled her eyes. "I _know_ that. But when I don't, he'll put me back in the brainwave scanner. I can't handle that again, Storm, I won't be able to -"

"Don't worry. Just a little longer, and we'll be on our way," the ninja assured her.

"But -"

Storm Shadow looked at her. "Nomad, we've got you out of a bad situation before."

"Right. Sorry. I just -" She broke off and shrugged with her good shoulder, not wanting to admit just how much she needed to get out - or how worried she was.

Storm seemed to guess what she was thinking, anyway. Damn ninjas - Nomad often found herself wondering if both Storm Shadow and Snake Eyes were psychic. "I know you want in on the plan," Storm said quietly, "but it's better - safer - for the others if you don't."

Safer for the others? Nomad frowned. Just what exactly _was_ Stormy's plan?

"Sit down. Get as much rest as you can," Storm said firmly. "It won't be long, now."

"What - but -"

He turned and closed the door behind him, leaving her standing in the middle of the cell, her mouth hanging open idiotically.

Damn ninja.

* * *

Half an hour later, the door opened again. Nomad looked up, saw that it _wasn't_ Storm Shadow who'd walked in, and rolled slowly to her feet, trying to look as weak as she could.

"Hands out," the Cobra troop said gruffly.

She did as she was told. The troop cuffed her hands in front of her, then took a firm hold of her upper arm. "Move."

She hobbled slowly across the room. Storm Shadow and the other guard were still outside. Storm made eye contact as she passed and gave the slightest nod of his head.

So…this was part of the plan?

Nomad wasn't sure she liked this plan.

_THUD_!

Nomad looked behind her, only to see Storm Shadow throwing the limp body of the other guard into the cell she'd occupied, then lock the door. "What the -"

"In here," the troop holding her arm said, yanking her sideways into another room.

She was too confused to do anything but stare dumbly at the troop - and then he drew a gun, opened the door and fired out into the corridor. At Storm Shadow.

She didn't stop to think. Nomad slammed her body into him, knocking him sideways. The gun went flying - she scurried after it, picked it up clumsily and pointed it at the troop. "Don't move, asshole."

The troop stared - and then he sighed. "You don't ever quit, do you?"

Her finger tightened on the trigger. "I _said_ -"

She stopped as the troop reached for his mask and pulled it down around his neck. "What…_Flint_?"

The warrant officer grinned roguishly at her, then his expression turned serious. "Storm just gave us the distraction we need. No doubt the security cameras - which he'll have taken out by now - caught him whacking that other guy."

Nomad was still trying to get past the fact that Flint was right in front of her. "So -"

"So Cobra's looking for a rogue troop - a Joe in disguise."

"But what about you?" she asked, confused.

He grinned again. "Why do you think I fired at him?"

It clicked. "So…they don't think you're a Joe, too…" Nomad shook her head. "_This_ is your plan? Dammit, what if -"

Flint rolled his eyes, stood up and took his gun from her hands before removing the handcuffs. "You can poke holes in the plan _after_ we get you the hell out of here. Now come on." He grabbed her elbow again and half-dragged her out the door.

Nomad's eyes went wide as she saw the damage Storm Shadow had already done. The several security cameras on the roof of the long corridor had all been taken out - several of them still had throwing stars lodged in the lenses. The bodies of at least five blue-uniformed troops lay sprawled on the floor, puddles of blood forming slowly around them.

Nomad swore to herself - she hadn't seen _any_ weapons on Storm Shadow. Where had he hidden them all?

Actually, no. She didn't want to know that.

"Where are you taking the Joe?"

Flint and Nomad spun as they heard the voice from behind them. A lone Cobra troop was sticking his head through the slightly open door of yet another cell.

"To the Commander," Flint answered without hesitation. "He sent me down to get her. Why aren't you after the other one? There's a Joe disguised as one of us."

"I know; it's one of the ninjas. If you think I'm crazy enough to -"

Flint's eyes narrowed. "Cobra has no use for cowards like you," he said dangerously

"But - hang on a sec -"

Flint raised his gun and fired. The troop's head snapped backwards, a red and grey star splattering onto the door behind him.

"Come on," the warrant officer said, glancing down at Nomad. "Let's get you out of here."

* * *

Once again, the alarm was sounding. Flint and Nomad rushed to the elevators, only to find -

"Dammit, they cut the power." Flint swore. "Can you handle the stairs?"

Nomad nodded, and she and the warrant officer headed for the door. Flint went through first…and ran straight into a Crimson Guardsman.

"What the hell are you doing with the Joe?" the Siegie demanded.

Nomad's heart was pounding. It felt like it was loud enough to give them away. The Siegie _had_ to be able to hear it.

"The Commander wants to question her," Flint answered calmly.

The Siegie flapped his hands impatiently. "Can't you hear the alarm? We've got a fucking intruder! Probably another Joe come for that one! Get her back to her cell, now."

"But the Commander ordered me to take her to him," Flint insisted.

The Siegie cocked his head. Nomad heard a tinny voice over his headset. "No, he didn't," he said slowly, "because he just ordered _me_ to make sure she was still in her cell." His eyes widened and he slapped a hand up to key his mike. "Stairwell! Joes have the pris -"

_SNAP_!

Nomad blinked as the Siegie went down, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Behind him stood a remarkably large troop in a uniform that was a little too small for him; several inches of his wrist showed beneath the sleeves of his blue shirt. His eyes were brown, fierce, and they scanned Nomad quickly before turning on Flint.

"Spook's've got the place pretty much in an uproar," he said. "We best get our asses outta here quick. An' _you_," he said, returning his gaze to Nomad, "_you're_ more trouble'n you're worth, scrawny."

Nomad bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. "I missed you, too, Beach."

He waved a hand. "Shut up an' let's go."

With Flint holding her left arm, Beach holding the other, Nomad was escorted up two flights of stairs in a convincing Cobra-like fashion. It seemed almost too easy that they could just walk out of here. In Nomad's experience, _nothing_ ever worked that well.

Of course, this was no exception.

"There they are! Get 'em!"

"Down!" Beach shoved both Flint and Nomad aside as a volley of sparks bounced off the handrail beside them. He snarled loudly as a round hit him in the arm, whipped out a gun and started firing down the centre of the stairwell. Bullets pinged around him. "Looks like we been sprung, Flint! Get 'er outta here, Ah'll deal with these fuckers!"

Flint pulled Nomad to her feet, and they burst through the closest door - and right into the middle of a firefight.

* * *

The foyer was in ruins, the big desk that took up the front wall overturned, the grand columns around the outside of the room blasted to tiny pieces. Rubble covered the floor.

Hands pulled both Nomad and Flint down behind a corner.

"Nice of you to show up," Covergirl said, grimacing as she let loose a barrage of automatic fire in the direction of the overturned desk. "Now what?"

Flint tossed his Cobra gun in preference of the assault rifle lying on the floor nearby, sliding out on his belly to get it and taking cover again just as the floor erupted into tiny chips of tile. "Now we hold out until the cavalry gets here."

"The cavalry?" Nomad yelled over the gunfire, looking around for something she could use to help.

"Sure," Covergirl called back, glancing over her shoulder. "You didn't think Clutch, Rock 'n' Roll and Steeler would let us come without them, did you?"

Nomad spotted the grenade attached to the former model's combat webbing, yanked it off, pulled the pin and hurled it toward the desk. There was a cry of alarm, and the snakes taking cover behind the desk ran into the open to escape the blast, only to cut down by Covergirl's withering fire. The grenade went off - but only emitted a bright flash of light and a deafening bang. It was only a stun grenade.

"Let's move," Flint said.

Nomad went to follow, but swore as pain ripped across her belly. "_Haaah_…dammit," she breathed.

"What?" Covergirl asked, concerned.

"It's nothing. Just popped my stitches. Again."

"Can you -"

"I'm fine. Let's go." Flint, Covergirl and Nomad ran into the suddenly quiet foyer, heading for the large glass doors that were so very, very close. If they could get through them…

"Stop right there."

Flint spun, whipped his rifle up - and dropped it as a bullet ripped through his forearm. "_Aaah!_"

Nomad looked up. Standing just outside the elevator - the lift's lights were glowing again now, the power returned - was the metal-masked Cobra Commander himself, flanked by Firefly and Destro. It was the saboteur who'd fired the shot.

"Drop the weapons, please," Destro said, tilting his head at Covergirl.

With a string of words that Nomad never expected to hear from the former model, Covergirl threw her gun down, a disgusted expression on her gorgeous face.

"So," Cobra Commander began, walking forward almost jauntily. "I start out with _one_ Joe, and now I have _three_." He paused. "Well…three _live_ ones, anyway."

Nomad's heart leaped into her throat. Storm…Beach…what had happened? They couldn't be…

"Take me and let them go," she said, stepping forward.

"Nomad, no -" Covergirl started, reaching out.

Nomad shrugged Covergirl's hand off her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the head snake. "I wasn't going to tell you anything…you know that, right?"

"Of course," the Commander replied imperiously.

She took a deep breath. "Let them go and I'll tell you anything you want. You have my word as a Joe. But I have to see them leave. Alive."

"Don't be an idiot," Flint hissed, clutching at his arm.

Nomad ignored him. "You've got me," she insisted, looking at the Commander. "I'm done. I can't take anymore."

The Commander paused, a hand under his masked chin. "You do have a -"

_SMASH_!

"Move, move, _move_!"

Covergirl dived for her gun as Flint grabbed Nomad's arm and hauled her to the closest of the two VAMPs now fishtailing into the foyer, literally throwing her into the seat beside Clutch and then leaping onto the second jeep, driven by Steeler. Behind them, Rock 'n' Roll manned the gun, sweeping the already destroyed room with a hail of bullets. Vaguely, over the noise, Nomad heard the Commander screaming frantic orders. She glanced over - Firefly and Destro were dragging the Commander behind the remains of the desk. Once he was safely behind cover, Destro turned, raising his arm.

"Time to go!" Clutch said, throwing the jeep into reverse and rolling over the shattered remains of the glass doors he'd just smashed through - just as, with a puff of smoke and a hiss, a rocket flew from Destro's gauntlet-like glove and slammed into the floor right where the jeep had been moments before.

Nomad, eyes wide, glanced across at the mechanic. He stared back at her, looking almost as shaken as she felt. "Hey, Nomad. You look like shit."

Typical grease monkey. "Thanks, Clutch," she retorted, pressing her palm to the dashboard to steady herself.

"You're welcome. Buckle up," he advised, then, noticing the state of her hands, he reached across and did it for her. "We're gettin' you outta here, Nomad, don't you worry."

"Don't worry? When _you're_ driving?"

"Cute. Real cute." The jeep skidded around in a quick 180 and took off, followed closely by the second with Flint riding shotgun and Covergirl on the gun.

Trees flew past in a blur of green and brown as they sped down the road, heading for the ocean.

"What about Beach and Storm?" Nomad asked.

Clutch didn't take his eyes off the road. "They're gettin' out the back way. They've got - ah, fuck me, that ain't _fair_."

"What?"

It didn't take long to figure out why Clutch was complaining. Ahead of them, looming into sight from above the trees, was a large helicopter - equipped with some nasty-looking missiles. It hovered over them menacingly, its rotors kicking up dust.

Rock 'n' Roll let out an intimidating roar and tilted the gun up as far as it could go, blasting away at the chopper's cockpit to no avail. The rounds chipped paint, but that was about all.

The Gatling gun mounted underneath the cockpit swivelled.

"Clutch…" Nomad urged.

"I'm thinkin'," the mechanic answered. He grabbed the radio. "We got incoming!"

"_That's not the only incoming!_" Covergirl's voice crackled back. "_I got four Cobra jeeps on my ass! I gotta ditch 'em!_"

Clutch spun in his seat. "Alright, alright! Split up! Meet at the pickup point!"

"_You got it, Clutch._"

The chopper hadn't made a move. It was like the pilots were gloating.

Clutch gunned the VAMP's engine. The jeep shot forward, beneath the chopper - Rock 'n' Roll swung the gun and aimed at the tail rotor. The chopper simply turned its heavy bulk and followed them, the Gatling now blazing a double trail behind them.

And then…

"Uh…Clutch? Can this thing go any faster?" Rock 'n' Roll asked.

The driver glanced quickly over his shoulder. "Shit."

Nomad turned as well, and saw a blast of fire issuing from the back of one of the chopper's missile tubes.

"Hold on," Clutch said through gritted teeth. "This's gonna get hairy."

The needle on the jeep's speedometer rose quickly as Clutch pressed his foot all the way down on the accelerator.

"Not fast enough, Clutch!" Rock 'n' Roll shouted.

"It's as fast as it'll go!" Clutch yelled back. "Why don't you shoot the fuckin' thing!"

"I'm _trying_!"

Nomad glanced over her shoulder. The missile was heading right for them - it was the most frightening thing she'd ever seen. "Hey, Clutch?"

"What?" he snapped, concentrating on the road.

"Wanna know my real name? It's -"

"Are you _crazy_? Not now, or we'll get blown to bits!"

"We're gonna get -"

"Not if I can help it," he said.

"Clutch…?" Nomad didn't like the glint in his eyes. "_Clutch?_"

"Hold on," he called. "Rock 'n' Roll!"

Behind her, Nomad saw the surfer dude drop and hold onto the rollbar for dear life. She braced herself.

Clutch swerved off the road, into the trees - and down the side of a small, but very steep, hill.

* * *

The Jeep bounced. It felt like it was going to flip right over onto its top, but - whether it was just pure luck or Clutch's driving skills - stayed upright.

A huge explosion rang out above them, and a few seconds later, bits of tree trunk, severed branches, and soil rained down on them. The missile had hit a tree trying to follow the jeep's heat trail through the dense foliage and detonated on impact.

Clutch braked suddenly at the bottom of the hill. Nomad winced as her seatbelt cut into her gut.

"Everyone okay?" Clutch asked breathlessly. He still held the steering wheel; his knuckles were white.

"Oh, yeah, just dandy," Rock 'n' Roll replied grumpily, shaking the debris off.

"I'm okay," Nomad said, ignoring the fresh warmth soaking into her Cobra uniform. She wondered vaguely how much blood she'd lost all up over the last few days.

Clutch glared at her. "And what the hell was that?"

"What the hell was _what_?" she asked, confused.

"Trying to tell me your real name? The hell were you thinkin'?"

"I was thinking we were about to die," she said honestly.

"Well…don't do it again."

"But -"

_Whup whup whup_.

Clutch groaned. "Oh, for…_not_ cool." He turned to scowl up at the chopper. "Can't a guy get a break?" he yelled up at it.

The Cobra helicopter circled, getting into prime position to launch a second missile.

_FWOMP_!

"Huh?" Nomad looked around as something small arced gracefully into the sky and landed right inside the chopper's cabin. Through the cockpit window, she saw frantic movement - and then the whole chopper just blew outward in a white-hot explosion. It dropped out of the sky - no slow motion or anything, it just _dropped_ - and landed with a huge boom, sending a blast of hot air over her, Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll.

"What -" she started.

Clutch grinned and pointed.

Nearby, kneeling in the back of a third VAMP, was Bazooka, his grenade launcher still resting on his shoulder. Just in front of him, looking slightly frazzled with her hands over her ears, her short, shaggy hair sticking up all over the place, was Jeckle. Lady Jaye sat in the driver's seat, accompanied by the red-clad medic, Lifeline.

Clutch pulled up beside Jaye's jeep. "Took your time," he said, winking.

"Hey, you better thank us for saving your hide, grease monkey," Jaye retorted. She looked past him to Nomad. "Hey, kiddo. How you doin'?"

"I've been better," Nomad admitted. "Jeckle, you look nervous."

"Not nervous," the other woman answered. "I just don't like Bazooka aiming that grenade launcher right over my head."

Bazooka grinned. "Sorry," he said bashfully.

Lifeline jumped out of the car and rushed around to Nomad's side. His eyes wavered slightly behind his glasses as he looked at her. "God, Nomad, what'd they do to you?"

She gave him a wry grin. "Apart from a few new things, not much that hasn't already been done before."

For a moment, he just stared. Then she saw the look of realisation on his face. "No…they didn't -"

"They did, but we don't have time. I'm okay for now, Lifeline. They had a doctor look after me. I've just got a few stitches that need doing up again, that's all."

He bit his lip. "I'd prefer to take a look now -"

"She's right," Jaye interjected, "we don't have time. We've got to get to the LZ. Nomad, how would you feel about getting fuck out of here?"

"I would like to get the fuck out of here _very_ much."

Lady Jaye grinned. "Thought you might."

She was about to say more when a rain of bullets pinged off the hood of her jeep. Everyone jumped into action immediately - Lifeline shoved Nomad's head down and dived on top of her, protecting her with his own body. Clutch, Lady Jaye and Bazooka picked up their guns and started firing back, taking cover behind the jeeps. Rock 'n' Roll and Jeckle manned the guns mounted on the back of the VAMPs.

Something in Clutch's jeep popped, then began to hiss ominously. From the corner of her eye, Nomad saw a thin finger of steam spouting from the front of the VAMP.

Then, just as suddenly as it had began, the shooting stopped.

"Did we get 'em all?" Jeckle asked bluntly.

"Yeah," Rock 'n' Roll answered, leaning over to high-five her.

"Good."

"Yeah, but we didn't get 'em before they got the VAMPs," Clutch grumbled, looking at the pockmarks and the steam issuing from his engine, then gesturing to the two flat tyres on Jaye's jeep. "Looks like we're walkin' outta here."

"Then let's go," Nomad said, shoving Lifeline off her. He looked at her, concerned, as he noticed the fresh blood on her uniform. "We've got a landing zone to get to."

"But -" the medic started.

She smiled at him. "Look, PIA, I didn't come this far to give up now. We're all going home."

It almost made her laugh: when she said the last word, every single one of them, apart from Bazooka, who didn't know her that well - looked sharply at her.

"That's right," she said firmly. "So…who's got a spare gun for me?"

* * *

Rock 'n' Roll took point, with Lady Jaye behind him. Then came Lifeline and Nomad - she now had Jeckle's .38 calibre pistol literally bandaged to her hand, so all she had to do was pull the trigger. Jeckle followed, then Clutch. Bazooka took drag, his namesake weapon strapped across his back, an assault rifle now in his hands.

Nomad felt better now that she had a gun. She felt less useless - less of a burden to the others. Of course, once she was out of ammo, the gun would be pointless unless one of them was near enough to help her reload, but still…she felt better.

Naturally, Lifeline had been reluctant to bandage the weapon to her hand. In the end, Nomad had threatened to take the gun anyway, and risk damaging her hands even more.

The medic had seen things her way.

So now they crept through the trees, skirting around the remains of the crashed Cobra helicopter, crawling back up the steep hill, Nomad with her arms around Lifeline's neck as the surprisingly strong medic piggybacked her up. She kept her gun well clear of him so it wouldn't even brush against his uniform.

They were met with the mess the missile had caused not five minutes ago; a large, burnt crater on the side of the road.

"Clear!" Rock 'n' Roll called surveying the road in both directions. The Joes emerged from the trees.

"I can keep carrying you," Lifeline offered, looking over his shoulder at Nomad.

She shook her head. "My legs work fine," she said stubbornly.

Their goal was the Cobra Island airstrip, all the way across the other side of the island. The only problem was, they only had seven minutes to get there. In the VAMPs, they could've got there with plenty of time to spare. On foot, they'd be cutting it close.

"Let's move," Jaye said. "If we cut across the island in a straight line, we should be able to make it."

They ducked across the open road and into the trees on the other side. Nomad repressed the memories that came flooding back; walking through the jungle with her guts ripped open and bleeding. This was different. This time, her team had made it. They were all making it home today.

"We're drifting to the right," she realised. "Rock 'n' Roll, head for that tree…the big one. The _other_ big one - that's it."

Five minutes left. Technically, it didn't really matter if they were late - the time had been set mainly to accommodate for getting the VAMPs on board the C-130 - but they had no radios, no way of letting Wild Bill know where they were for a pickup by harness.

They jogged on, single file. Nomad was getting tired - loss of blood and the adrenaline of the battle wearing off were taking their toll on her body. She was starting to ache all over.

"You okay?" Lifeline asked.

She gritted her teeth and nodded. "Yep."

Four minutes.

Somewhere close by, they heard the sound of gunfire and the rumble of at least three engines. One sounded like a VAMP. And then an explosion shook the ground - and Nomad could no longer hear the VAMP engine. "Covergirl…"

"Just coz we can't hear her doesn't mean she's gone," Jeckle said quietly, planting a hand in the middle of Nomad's back. "Hey, did I tell you I got my tattoo?"

"No," Nomad said, knowing full well that the other woman was just trying to distract her. "Is it on your ass?"

Jeckle grinned. "Nope, it's in a fully viewable place. Check it out." The short Joe held out her left hand, keeping her gun gripped firmly in her right, to reveal a tattoo of an anchor on the back of it. A bracelet of rope circled her wrist, 'tying' the anchor on. The tattoo itself was still slightly flaky - she must've only got it a few weeks ago.

"'Wreck helped me design it," she admitted.

"So when you dump him, you're gonna have an anchor on you reminding you of him for the rest of your life."

"Yep. Reminding me never to go out with a damn sailor ever again," Jeckle said, grinning. "I want another one. Another tattoo, I mean. They're addictive, aren't they?"

Nomad didn't answer, glancing around distractedly. Something was -

"Hit the dirt!" Lady Jaye shouted.

Jeckle tackled both Nomad and Lifeline to the ground as several rounds zinged past their heads. She was up in an instant, firing back at the blue-suited Cobra troops now circling them.

Nomad started to breath heavily. It was just like Sierra Gordo. Any time now, one of them would get shot…

Nomad lifted her right hand and used her unbroken middle finger to squeeze the trigger of the gun bandaged to her hand. The slight recoil hurt like hell - but two of the five rounds hit their targets. Two snakes fell. The other three shots went wide, and Nomad saw the closest trooper smile behind his red mask. He raised his gun…and then a red dot appeared on his forehead, and his whole head simply exploded in a burst of blood and grey matter. An instant later, another trooper fell, a large hole in his chest.

_CRACK! CRACK!_

A third troop fell, and a fourth, and Nomad's rapidly beating heart felt like it just froze. She knew that sound. That was the sound of a sniper rifle - one with a starlight scope attached to the barrel.

Lowlight _was_ here!

Somebody grabbed her and lifted her to her feet. "We've gotta run," Clutch said. "Can you -"

"I wish people would stop asking if I can handle it," Nomad grunted.

"Then move that shapely ass!"

* * *

One minute to go. One minute before Wild Bill touched down on the Cobra Island airstrip in the cargo plane.

Nomad ran, her wounded shoulder burning, her belly feeling like it was ripping further open with each step, her hands throbbing. Each breath tore from her lungs. Lifeline, Jeckle and the others, though they could obviously run faster, kept pace with her. Only Rock 'n' Roll had sprinted ahead, to let the others know they were on their way.

She was slowing them down. The thought only encouraged her to push herself more, to run faster.

Then the trees ended abruptly, in a line, and they were out in the open on the airstrip - in the middle of a fierce battle.

Covergirl, Steeler, Flint and a few other Joes - Nomad couldn't see who - were sheltered behind the charred remains of their VAMP, firing at the Cobras barricaded behind their own jeeps in the middle of the runway. More snakes were on the way - somewhere close by, she could hear the rotor blades of another chopper.

Not good. If _that_ chopper was equipped with missiles, too…

Bazooka went down on one knee, aiming his grenade launcher at the barricade. He didn't get time to fire; at that point, the troops noticed the new group standing in the open, with no cover, and opened fire.

Lifeline was hit in the leg. Clutch took a round through his shoulder, but kept firing, gritting his teeth and keeping his finger jammed on the trigger of his rifle. Nomad slipped her arm around Lifeline and limped back to the trees, the closest cover she could find. "Lifeline -"

He gave her a brief, pained grin. "Nomad, if you can survive what's been done to you - twice - I can handle a single little bullet."

Despite the situation, Nomad was oddly touched. "Help me get this gun off, it's getting in the way -"

Lifeline sat forward - and then his eyes flicked past her, going wide.

Nomad spun to see a Cobra troop standing over her, gun levelled at the bridge of her nose.

This was it. She leaned back, shielding the medic as much as she could.

And then, without warning, the troop's legs gave way and he collapsed.

"What the -"

There was a metal star lodged in his neck, glinting dangerously. Nomad raised her eyes as two figures emerged silently from the trees, one wearing all black, the other wearing a Cobra uniform.

Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow. "That's one hundred and fifty you owe me now," Storm said, grinning. "I'll just take your next paycheck, will I?"

"I'll gladly hand it over," she answered, breathing a sigh of relief. "Wow. Hawk pulled out all the stops this time, didn't he?"

*Actually, everyone on this mission volunteered,* Snakes signed.

"They…really?"

He nodded. *But we can chat later. We have a plane to catch. And somebody back there wants to see you.*

Nomad just stared in awe as the two ninjas strode past, Snake Eyes pulling a sword from the sheath on his back. Storm Shadow held his hand out. "We checked your apartment after we got the call from your boss saying you hadn't come in for work. We found this," he said.

She looked at what was in his hand; her birthday present, the shiny, sharp ninja knife.

"Mind if I borrow it for a while?" Storm continued.

She held her busted hands up. "Go for it," she said. "Kick some ass for me, huh?"

Storm grinned like a maniac. Snake Eyes tilted his head, then nodded at something behind her.

"What -" She turned, fearful that it might've been another Cobra troop.

It wasn't. It was somebody _far_ more capable of stopping her heart.

"Lowlight?"

He didn't reply, just gripped his sniper rifle tighter and stood over her and Lifeline, leaning out from behind the tree every now and then to fire a single round into the fray beyond. Nomad thought his stance was protective…but then, she could've been imagining things.

She realised she didn't care. Everyone on the mission had volunteered, Snakes had said…which meant that Lowlight had volunteered, too.

He'd wanted to come and get her.

"Lifeline, you okay?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the sniper.

"_I_ should be asking _you_ that," he answered irritably, "but yeah, I'm fine."

"Good," Nomad answered, "because Wild Bill just got here."

* * *

The big C-130's wheels screeched on the runway, barreling straight through the Cobra barricade, sending the jeeps - and any troops who were quick enough to get out of the way – flying. The plane slowed, making a wide turn at the end of the asphalt, the loading ramp already opening. Three more VAMPs came bursting out of the hold before the lamp had finished lowering.

Duke drove one, Crankcase another - and at the wheel of the third was General Hawk himself.

Lifeline shook Nomad off as she tried to help him up. "I said -"

"Lowlight, get Lifeline. He's shot in the leg, he can't run. I can."

Lowlight gave her a frown, but grabbed the medic's arm and slung it over his shoulder, ignoring Lifeline's protests.

Nomad stepped out of the trees, waving, trying to catch somebody's attention. One of the VAMPs swerved, heading over for her - Hawk's jeep.

"Get in," Hawk ordered.

Nomad turned to make sure Lowlight and Lifeline got in first, but the sniper pushed her into the passenger seat.

Hawk glanced at her. "Ready to go?"

"Hell yes, sir."

The C-130 was already taxiing down the runway, its open loading ramp screeching, sending sparks flying up behind it. As Nomad watched, the first jeep jounced over the edge and into the hold. The second jeep wasn't far behind.

A barrage of fire assaulted Hawk's VAMP.

"Get down," the General ordered calmly, pulling his .45 from his shoulder holster. Behind them, Lowlight swung the gun around.

Nomad sunk down in her seat as far as she could. The General, one eye on the road, reached over her and blasted four quick shots - Nomad saw four troops fall.

Damn, Hawk was good. Not for the first time, she was glad he was on her side.

But the plane was pulling away. She could see the faces of the other Joes looking back, yelling at them to hurry up.

They were so close.

The plane started to rise.

The jeep chased it.

The loading ramp was off the ground.

They weren't going to make it -

And then something clanked down onto the hood, thrown by one of the Joes already in the plane - a winch cable, with a hook attached to the end. To Nomad's amazement, Lowlight leaped nimbly over the top of her, onto the front of the car, reached down and hooked the cable securely around the VAMP's bullbar.

The jeep lurched forward immediately, dragged into the air with the plane. Lowlight stumbled, lost his balance, landed on his back…

He was going to roll off the jeep. The plane was already three metres off the ground, the Jeep dangling behind it like a worm on a fishing line. Bullets grazed past them both ways, the Joes firing down at the Cobras firing up.

"No!"

Without thinking, Nomad lunged forward, thrusting an arm out - and Lowlight caught her wrist.

"Don't you _dare_ fall," she grunted, ignoring the pain screaming up her entire arm.

Hawk threw himself over her, reaching out and grabbing onto Lowlight. The sniper let go of her immediately and she sat back, breathing hard.

Slowly, inch by inch, the cable towed them onto the loading ramp. Somebody slammed the switch, and the ramp closed.

Nomad waited until she was sure Lowlight's feet were securely on the ground before slumping back into her seat, barely hearing the cheers of the Joes as they huddled around the jeep.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, once Lifeline had finished fussing over her, shaking his head in disbelief as he inspected her wounds, Nomad asked him to tell the others to give her some room. She was tired - the last thing she wanted to do was answer questions about what had happened. She'd answer them, of course - there was no getting out of answering questions where the Joes were concerned, she knew that pretty well by now - just…later. All she wanted to do right now was sleep, helped along by the generous dose of morphine Lifeline had given her. It was enough to know that they'd all made it out safely - even Beachhead, who she'd last seen in the stairwell, about to take on a whole group of Cobras on his own.

"Hey."

Nomad looked up. "Hey."

Lowlight took a seat beside her, leaning against the wall of the plane, looking down at her with his blue eyes. Nomad wasn't quite affected by painkillers enough to not realise that the silence was awkward. She sighed. "Lowlight -"

"Nomad -" he started at the same time.

They looked at each other.

"Thanks," Nomad whispered. "For coming to get me, I mean."

He gave her his crooked grin - and she knew that they were going to be alright. She sat up, shuffled over and leaned against him, sighing contentedly.

He carefully put his arms around her. "I'll always come to get you."

"Really?" Her eyelids were getting heavy.

He nodded. "Uh huh."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I didn't wanna hurt you…when I said we were through. I just…" She yawned.

"Shh. I know you didn't."

"Can we…start over?"

Lowlight shut his eyes briefly, let out a sigh, then nodded again, smiling. "If you want."

"I want."

He brushed her hair back and pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Nomad?"

"Uh huh…"

"Thanks for catching me," he replied.

"You'd better be…grateful. It…fucking hurt."

She grinned wearily as she felt the sniper's chest vibrate with quiet laughter, and then she closed her eyes.

Everything was okay now.

Nomad was going home.


End file.
